


Return To Winterfell

by Piggy_saBinring



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Nods to ASOIAF (blink and you'll miss them), PTSD, Post-S7, Show Verse Only, Strong Language, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piggy_saBinring/pseuds/Piggy_saBinring
Summary: The final battle approaches and Meera Reed must accompany her father to Winterfell. There she must confront her past and her demons; if she doesn't, she may not have a future...





	1. On The Road [Meera]

Meera did not wish to return to Winterfell, but her father had insisted on taking north as many of their people as could fight. It hadn't helped her case that her Lord Father had been able to coax out of her that she'd killed a White Walker. Once Howland Reed had discovered that he was never going to let his daughter stay home. As much as she wanted to tell her parents of her journey beyond the Neck, Meera found that she could not.  
Her Lady Mother had asked her what was wrong one day, after she'd happened upon her daughter lying in bed hugging her knees to herself and sobbing loudly into her pillow. Jyana Reed had told Meera that she knew this melancholy went beyond her brother's death.

“I may not have the sight, Meera,” she'd said, placing her hand on her daughter's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, “but I know you.” Lady Reed had sighed. “You weep for something other than Jojen's passing.” Her mother had cut off Meera's instinctive protest. “Or perhaps someone?” Meera refused to be baited and had deliberately not replied.  
Lady Reed sighed again. “Meera,” she'd said kindly, “I know you are not mourning for your brother now. When you do, I always find you clutching at something of his, or in his room. That isn't the case now.” Her mother had soothingly rubbed her back. “Please tell me what troubles you, my girl…”

“I… I can't, Mother,” Meera had managed to choke out between the sobs wracking her body. “Not yet… it hurts too much to speak of.” Of course, she still had yet to find the courage to inform her parents of the particulars surrounding Jojen's death, either. How Meera had failed to protect him. How she'd held him in her arms as his lifeblood drained from his body. The faint look of forgiveness Jojen had given his big sister, right before she'd taken the knife to his throat to end his suffering.  
It had been no more difficult physically than, nor different to, any of the hundreds of animals Meera had slaughtered the same way. But it was different! Jojen was her brother, barely even a man grown – surely it should have been harder? How could it be as simple to end a man's life as it was an animal's?

Meera's mother had been right, of course. She hadn't been mourning for Jojen; she had been mourning for all the other things she'd lost along the way, since leaving home so long ago. Friends and companions, allies… even someone to love that Meera had desperately hoped felt the same for her. She'd lost some of her innocence, as well, and nearly had more things taken from her besides. Why were the gods so cruel to decent people, while allowing evil men to go unpunished?  
How could Meera's mother even hope to comprehend the horrors she'd witnessed? Or the terrors she'd had inflicted on her? Her father may have understood a fraction of what Meera had been through… if she could find it in herself to confide in him. Even though it was mercy, Meera was a murderer and a kinslayer. Why was she alive, when her brother had perished? No, her father could never understand what she felt. He had no brother he could commit fratricide on anyway. Nor did her mother, for that matter.

And Howland Reed was not a woman, so Meera doubted he would understand how she had felt when she'd nearly been raped at the hands of Night's Watch deserters beyond the Wall. The familiar terror of the possibility of being bodily violated welled up in her now. Meera's breathing became more laboured, and she felt a tightness in her chest.  
Her stomach felt like rebelling as her mind brought the memories of that night back unbidden. She thought she'd buried them. His hands in her hair, his breath on her face. The crass and vulgar things he'd said to her. Even the touch of his filthy fingers on her face came back to her. Meera remembered the shame she'd felt, knowing that she was about to have her maidenhead stolen by a beast, then repeatedly violated by him and his men, all while her baby brother and her friends were forced to watch helplessly.

Meera had been riding alongside her father at the head of the column of Crannogmen they were bringing to Winterfell. She was familiar enough with the landscape to know that they were not far away from their destination at all now. Suddenly feeling like she was going to retch, Meera broke from the column and galloped for the tree-line. She heard her father calling out her name, but Meera could not remain and be smothered by her fears and memories. Air, she needed air… and space and time to herself to get herself together. Meera was worse than useless like this to her father.  
When she was into the trees far enough to lose sight of the men on the Kingsroad, Meera rapidly dismounted and sank to her knees as she emptied her stomach onto the nearest tree. As she knelt there, she braced herself against the tree with one hand, trying to slow her rapid and heavy breathing, willing herself to stop crying so piteously.  
Howland Reed found his daughter like that not long after. Quietly dismounting his horse, he came and knelt beside Meera in the snow. Lord Reed draped an arm wordlessly around his last child's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She clung to him as if she would drown if she let go. Meera knew not how long they were like that, but when she had calmed somewhat, they separated and silently got back on their horses.

When they reached the edge of the trees and were once again in sight of their men, Meera's father took hold of her reins and pulled up both of their horses. “Speak to me, Mim,” he ordered. His voice had lost none of its usual warmth, and he'd called her by the special nickname only he called her, but Meera heard the undertone of frustration and annoyance beneath it which meant Lord Reed had reached the limit of his patience with her behaviour.

Both of them remained facing forwards, looking ahead at the road. “What do you wish to hear, Father?” Meera asked sadly. She knew Howland Reed was not a man to easily drop something that could be important or affect the lives of his men. “Neither you nor Mother seem content to leave me to my grief and sorrow.” She sighed and looked beyond the lines of Crannogmen, up the road towards where Winterfell lay. Meera felt her father's eyes on her back. “How can either of you understand what I went through after I left home, when I don't even understand it, and I was the one who lived it?”

Her father did not reply for a time, but this was unsurprising. Like his son Jojen, Howland spoke little but when he did it was well-thought out and often profound. “Jyana loves you dearly, Meera,” he told her gently. “As do I. You are our last child, and we worry for you.” Lord Reed sighed and lowered his voice. “Your mother even more so than I.” That got Meera's attention. While she and her mother loved each other, they were the least close of the family, as they had little in common. She stared at her father now with an unspoken question on her lips. One which Meera's father answered without her asking.

“Meera,” Lord Reed said sorrowfully, “put yourself in your mother's position for a moment. The last time she allowed two of her family to leave home, one did not come back at all, and the other came back… changed.” She knew what he meant; Meera had changed and not necessarily in ways she liked either. Father is not being unkind, just telling me the way things are, she reassured herself. Then Meera realised what he wasn't saying, and she gaped at him.  
“Yes, now Jyana fears losing us as she lost Jojen. She didn't get a proper chance to say goodbye to her son, and now she fears the same for her daughter.” Meera wiped her silent tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Howland put a hand on his daughter's cheek and brushed another tear away with his thumb. “I know you understand this, but your mother is hurting too. She knows you have your reasons, but it doesn't lessen her pain.” She pulled away from her father's touch and looked to the ground on the opposite side of the horse to him with burning cheeks. “I'm not trying to shame you, Mim… just speaking truths.”

“I know,” Meera replied, voice barely a whisper. Her chest felt tight again. “I know, Father,” she said again, a little louder this time. “It's just that I've seen so much…”

“You've seen death,” he said. It was not a question. She nodded regardless, still not looking back towards the man who sired her. “You have killed men too.” Meera scrunched her eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing. She did not trust her voice not to fail if she answered. If only you knew, Father, Meera thought. Could you or mother ever forgive me, when I cannot forgive myself?  
Her Lord Father sighed. “You don't answer me, but you do not deny it, either.” She felt his eyes on her again. “I'm glad, in a way.” Meera whipped her head around to him and blinked at her father with wide eyes. “Let me explain myself, my girl. Before your eyes pop out of your head.” Lord Reed smiled wryly at her. It was the same smile as Jojen's. Meera lowered her head deferentially and nodded that her father could continue. She couldn't bear to be reminded of Jojen at that moment.  
“I can see it in your eyes, Meera. That you've taken another life.” Her father was speaking kindly again, and Meera silently thanked him for it. “The fact that you feel bad about it is a testament to your character. To kill… it should always be hard. If it is easy, then you have most likely lost at least some of your humanity.” She saw him frown out of the corner of her eye. “I could tell it when you came home, you know… that you'd killed. Your mother doesn't know; I never told her. Gods willing, she never will.”  
Meera raised her head and eyed her Lord Father curiously. He responded by laughing dryly. “Do you think I share every last thing with my Lady Wife, child? Everyone has secrets they hold close to their hearts.” He sighed. “Some secrets are less dangerous to those you love when you keep them to yourself.” She saw the wisdom in his words and thought that the end of their conversation. But her father still did not relinquish her reins.

With his other hand, he waved the outriders at the head of the column to get the men moving again. Yet Howland Reed remained otherwise motionless on his horse. He looked pensive, oddly reminding her of Benjen Stark. Meera was puzzled by that, but her father spoke again before she could ask what troubled him. “Meera,” he said in the tone used to command, the one where he was not her father but her lord. She was fearful now, worried at what she could possibly have done to displease him.  
Meera knew it showed on her face as she met her father's eyes because she saw his lord's mask crack momentarily in sympathy, before hardening again. Yes, she was very much in trouble with her father and, for the first time in her life, Meera couldn't fathom why. “I need to ask you some questions now, and it is very important that you answer them truthfully. I mean with the whole truth. Do not leave something out for fear I will punish you.”  
He sighed. “I must know things of you that relate to the safety of my people… of our people.” Meera had the desire then for the earth to open up and swallow her whole, so that she would not be subject to her father's inquisition. It was unavoidable now, though. She bowed her head and nodded her consent.  
“Alright then,” Lord Reed said to her, his voice less harsh now but still not as warm as he usually was with her. “Before we start, is there anything you want to tell me?” Meera was still as she wracked her brains for anything she might have done that would cause her father to act this way. She drew a blank. There was her culpability for Jojen's death, but he could not possibly know that. Nor, come to think of it, would it have any relevance to their force being brought to Winterfell.

She shook her head. “No, Father,” Meera answered him. The Lord of Greywater Watch and the Neck gave his daughter and heir a look she'd never seen from him before, one she could not decipher. It was almost disbelieving and possibly disappointed. That frightened her.

Howland Reed was silent for a time, as he watched the soldiers on the Kingsroad file by. Meera was beyond confused now by how her father was acting, but she dared not speak again until he did. He turned back to her presently, a frown creasing his face, and regarded her. “This is not easy for me either, Meera,” the Lord told his daughter, seemingly reading her mind. “Nor does interrogating you thusly bring me any joy.” She nodded her comprehension. “Good, I'm glad you understand…”  
He took a deep breath and then started. “Did someone mistreat you?” Meera looked at him, eyes wide, before dropping her head and nodding. “Was it one of the men?” She'd never heard her father so angry. Shrinking back on the horse, Meera vigorously shook her head without looking up. The horses fidgeted under their riders. Whether they were restless from remaining still for so long, or if they sensed the tension between the humans that sat them, she couldn't say. It unnerved her.  
Her father's anger was more under control next he spoke. “Did the Starks mistreat you, Meera?” he asked. She heard the fear and pain underlying the anger in that question. Ned Stark had been Howland Reed's friend, not just his liege lord. Of course, he would worry if their children had bad blood between them. Especially given the fact that he also knelt to Ned's sons.

She swallowed. “No, Father,” Meera answered him. “Not… not exactly.” Briefly, she glanced up at him before trying and struggling to find the right words. Lord Reed waited patiently for her to explain, though. “Words were exchanged. Offence was taken, where I now believe none was intended to be given.” She grimaced. The last meeting with Bran still haunted Meera's dreams; as did the things she experienced beyond the Wall. She had not had a single untroubled night's sleep since she had realised a stranger now lived behind her friend's face.  
“Only Lord Brandon and his sister, Lady Sansa, were present when I was last there, Father. Lady Sansa was far too busy running the castle, and I mostly stayed out of everyone's way, including hers. And Bran…” Meera sucked in a breath. “We did not part on the best of terms. I… I was upset with him after we last spoke and I left Winterfell as quickly as I possibly could. I came straight home, only stopping to eat, sleep and heed the call of nature.”  
She tentatively looked to her father. Absently, Meera clutched at her chest over her heart and rubbed at the dull ache she felt there. “The way Bran and I parted ways… I truly thought I never wanted to see him again. But the closer we get, Father, the more I realise that's untrue.” A tear ran down Meera's cheek. “I do want to see Bran again, yet I fear things will be as they were when I left.” Lord Reed nodded as he processed what his daughter had said. If he'd noticed her overfamiliar usage of Bran's name, he gave no outward sign.

“Very well,” replied Howland when next he spoke. “I don't believe there's any irreparable harm done there, Mim. But I will be watching Lord Brandon… if he upsets you again, you will tell me immediately.”

She gave a relieved smile to him. “Yes, Father,” Meera readily agreed. For the first time in a long while, she was not entirely stressed out of her mind about returning to the ancestral home of House Stark. Now it was only a matter of convincing her roiling belly of that fact. She still felt queasy, but thankfully her stomach was empty now and unlikely to erupt anytime soon.  
Meera was thirsty now and took out a waterskin to drink from. She swished the first sip around her mouth to remove the last of the vomit and then spat it out onto the ground before taking a proper drink. It was then that she realised her father was studying her again.

“Meera, are you well?” her sire asked, clearly concerned. “You look pale, and I saw earlier that you didn't keep your food down…”

She took another sip of water and decided to tell him the truth, but not before finishing drinking and putting the waterskin away. “I have been feeling a little unwell of late, Father,” she admitted. “It was also not the first time recently that I've retched up my guts.” Meera sighed, looking at the column of men that was now nearly completely past them. “I did not want to add to your problems by burdening you with mine.”

“Meera…” Lord Reed said with a dangerous edge to his voice. “Do not play games with me!” She looked at her father now, surprise written all over her face. He was angrier now than he'd ever been before. Meera could see the muscles bunching and twitching along his jaw, and she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Still, Howland Reed refused to look at his daughter. “I've had children, Meera. I wasn't born yesterday…” Suddenly, the horrifying truth of what her father had been asking her all along dawned on her.

“You think I…” she choked. Meera then found herself overcome with a rage unlike any she'd ever experienced before. “I am a maid!” she screamed at her sire. “How could you even think that of me?!” Meera shook with anger, but when her father finally looked over, and she saw the piteous look on his face, her heart broke. Lord Reed had made a grievous error, and he knew it too. Her father looked like he was going to cry. She suddenly recalled that the last time he'd done that was when Jojen had told him of Lord Stark's execution. Howland Reed simply didn't cry; not unless something truly awful had happened. Meera took pity on her Lord Father.  
“I am a maid, Father,” she repeated, much more calmly this time. Meera shivered involuntarily. “Thank the gods!” Lord Reed looked at her, confused by her response. She sighed. “And thank Jojen, too,” she quietly added. Her father's eyes and mouth went wide, as the realisation of what Meera was saying to him spread across his features.

“Oh gods!” he exclaimed in horror. “Forgive me… I'm so sorry, Meera.” Howland Reed did indeed begin to shed tears then. “I wish I could have been there to protect you.”

Now Meera felt tears on her own cheeks. “There was nothing you could have done, Father; not by yourself. You would have been the biggest threat to them – they would have just killed you.” Or forced you to watch too, she dared not add. It would only burden him more. Meera slumped forward in her saddle. “After we passed the Wall… Jojen got sick. The further north we went, the sicker he got. His visions and their aftermath worsened too until he looked half-dead.”  
Her mind was far away now. “What a sight we must have made… The party of the damned,” she stated, before laughing humourlessly. “Can you imagine it? A dire-wolf, a cripple, a girl, a withering sickly boy and a half-giant lackwit…” Meera sobbed. In her own way, she realised, she had assisted in killing them all, in some form or another.

“Your brother saved you from them?” asked her father next. Meera nodded. She was too weary to talk about this any longer and didn't trust her voice not to betray her besides. Even if it did give her Lord Father a false impression of how his son had died. Meera groaned on the inside. If Bran were anything like he was when she'd left him, he would likely insensitively blurt out the truth anyway. And then her father would actually have a reason to think the worst of her.

“Please, Father,” she begged. “I don't want to speak any more about this now. I just want to reach Winterfell already and get this day over with.” Meera exhaled loudly. “I'm tired,” she declared.

“Alright, come along then,” Lord Reed agreed, handing her reins back to her. He smirked playfully at his daughter. “Race you to the head of the column? Winner gets to think up the loser's punishment…”

Meera snorted out a laugh. “You're on, Father,” she agreed, mirroring his playful smirk. Then she took off without warning, leaving him behind. Howland let out a chuckle too, before urging his horse on to chase her. Even though her father was the more experienced rider, Meera won. She always won versus him. Horse, canoe, on foot – it mattered not, she always beat him in the end. It was always a close thing, though. The race re-energised Meera, and she didn't feel as apprehensive about reaching their destination now as she had been. “I win!” she declared, laughing as she did. Lord Reed smiled at his daughter, and Meera gladly returned it.

“I'm pleased to see you smiling again, Mim,” Howland let her know. “I had feared with everything you'd lost, you may have lost that too.” He sobered somewhat. “The world is dark enough as it is, without losing the light of your smile too.” Meera blushed at her father's sentiment. Their men were apparently giving them a wide enough berth to speak semi-privately. Neither spoke for a time. “Did you know that this is further north than I've ever been before?” he asked randomly.

“You've never been to Winterfell before, Father?” she replied, incredulous at the information.

“Aye,” Lord Reed answered. “Before this trip, I'd never been beyond a few miles north of Moat Cailin. But I have seen as far south as south goes.” He chuckled at his daughter's look of surprise and then elaborated. “At the end of the rebellion, Ned and I visited Starfall in Dorne, which lies on the Summer Sea. We were there to return Dawn, the ancestral blade of House Dayne.” Lord Reed quietened. “Ned had taken it from Ser Arthur Dayne… the 'Sword of the Morning' they called him.”  
Her father's eyes were far away. “I lost three friends to his blade the day we fought. Nearly lost myself and Ned to it, too. Look here for a second please?” Meera did as she was asked. Her father lifted up his tunic slightly to discreetly show her the scar that ran full across his belly. “Ser Arthur gave me this to remember him by.” He dropped his shirts again. “To have to go into the home of a man you've killed and break bread with his family…”  
Howland inhaled sharply. “It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, Meera.” She understood the feeling perfectly, but she couldn't bring herself to say that. It was actually worse for Meera; Jojen's family was her family too. “So, you see,” he continued, “I've been as far south of home as possible and my children have done the same in the other direction.” It hurt to see and hear how much pride Father took from that.

Meera found that she wanted to confide something to her father then, only she needed fewer people around. An idea came to her. “Would you ride ahead with me, Father?” she asked. He looked over and, seeing her enthusiasm, smiled broadly. “It might be better if you had some time to adjust to seeing Winterfell – before the men catch up,” Meera added quietly.

Howland nodded. “That's a great idea, my girl,” he complimented her. “Hmm… smart and capable.” Lord Reed was generous with his praise now. “I'm very proud of the woman you've grown into, Meera.” She found herself smiling and blushing at the same time. Her father informed their outriders of their plans and then they set off up the road.

It felt to Meera as though her father had intended on saying more, only to think better of it. Or perhaps he wanted more privacy too. When they were out of sight of the men and had slowed the horses to a trot, she decided to speak. “Father,” Meera started tentatively, “I need to say something to you.”

He glanced over and nodded at her to continue. She swallowed. “If someone had… taken me – against my will or not – I would tell you.” Meera sniffled. “I'd never keep something like that from you… I couldn't hide it, even if I wanted to. Which I wouldn't. You know that, surely?”

Her father shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Meera…” Howland said sorrowfully. She looked over and saw his discomfort. Lord Reed stared at the ground with a pained look on his face. “I'm truly sorry.” His voice cracked. “I was not angry because I thought you'd given yourself away… I was angry because I thought you were trying to deceive me about it.”  
He glanced over but still didn't meet Meera's eyes. She realised then that her father was still agonising over his mistake. “I took two and two, yet I came up with five.” Howland Reed's voice became much quieter. “Please forgive me… you were sick and distant and heartbroken. I feared you'd been taken advantage of and left with a bastard in your belly.” He looked uncomfortable again. “I'm relieved that's not the case.”

They continued a little further in silence. Meera gathered up her courage, then spoke softly in reply. “Father,” she admitted, “I was sick before because nearing Winterfell has brought back memories of what happened to us… to me when we were beyond the Wall. Things that I desperately wish to forget but that still come back to torment me in my dreams at night.”  
Meera found herself gripping her reins tightly. She took some deep breaths and willed herself to be calm. “Of course, I forgive you, Daddy.” She sighed. “I love you… and I know you love me.” But for how much longer? a cruel voice in the back of Meera's mind taunted. She wished it would just shut up and go away.

“Thank you, Mim,” Howland replied, relief etched on his features and plain in his voice. “That means a great deal to me.” Meera couldn't help but smile in response to his kind words.

She looked around to get her bearings and came to a realisation. “We should be able to see Winterfell from the top of the next rise, Father.”

“So close already?” asked Lord Reed of his daughter. She nodded. “Hmm… I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He seemed excited at the prospect and Meera couldn't blame him for his gleeful anticipation at beholding the mighty fortress. “Lead on then, my girl.”

They rode on – father trailing daughter. Cresting the hill, Meera found herself just as awestruck at seeing the castle as she had been the first time. She pulled her horse up to a stop and looked at the thing of beauty in front of her. A gasp came from behind her. Meera forced herself to look away and turned to her father. “Welcome to Winterfell, my lord,” she said, smiling broadly as she did.

Howland Reed could not tear his eyes away from the magnificent structure, his mouth open, apparently stunned speechless. Meera wondered what her father was thinking but dared not break the silence.  
“It's beautiful,” he eventually managed to say. “Far more so than I ever imagined… Words cannot do it justice.” She definitely agreed with him on that. They took in the view some more. “It's bigger than I expected. Not by much, though. Still, it's tiny compared to…” Howland ducked his head. “Compared to Harrenhal,” he finished sadly.

Meera knew her father was caught up in the past now. She brought her horse closer and rested a hand on her Lord Father's arm. He placed the hand of his other arm atop hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I will be beside you the whole time, should you wish it, Father,” Meera promised him. He glanced at her and flashed a quick smile. Howland Reed nodded.

“I would be thankful if you did, Mim,” he replied gratefully. She could tell her sire was still trying to compose himself – to put back on the mantle of a Lord and to cover up his grief at the loss of his friends so long ago. Lord Reed squeezed his daughter's hand again and withdrew his own hand. That was Meera's cue to remove hers as well. She moved away to give her father some space. The winds whipped at her hair as she gazed upon Winterfell.  
Meera realised that she, as well as her father, had become bound to the Starks by a force stronger than oaths; a force possibly even greater than fate. It was love that held them bound. Despite the fact that it was not their home, both Reeds felt an affinity, nay, a kinship with Winterfell. Something transcendent. She looked over to her father once more and saw him eyeing the castle with a small, sad smile.

He was thinking of his generation of Starks again, it seemed. The wild Brandon, who had been completely unlike the boy named for him. Eddard, the quiet one, a steadfast and loyal friend in both war and peace. The girl, Lyanna, who had been no older than Meera had been upon leaving home, when she had seen her home for the last time. Meera had gleaned that her father had been present when Lyanna had passed, from things she'd overheard from others.  
But Howland Reed rarely spoke of her. His daughter had an inkling as to why, but she dared not ask; she knew well that speaking of Lyanna Stark around her father was a painful and futile exercise. If he wanted to speak of her, he would, but if he did not start the conversation, it was like talking to a wall. Only it was a wall which had very volatile emotions on the subject.  
Meera's father had barely ever mentioned Benjen Stark. Beyond affectionately referring to Bran's youngest paternal uncle as the ‘Wolf pup' on a few occasions, Howland had once told his children that Benjen had taken the Black before he was even a man grown. It had always puzzled Meera why, until she had met him for herself. He wished to serve the realm, and he still continued to do so, even in his undeath.  
That part of the trip had been very awkward and unsettling; Benjen being a wight who really wasn't and her just being generally terrified of everything going to shit around her. Since Osha the wildling had introduced her to the word, Meera had never used it aloud. But in this case, in her own mind, she thought it fit. The gods knew Meera certainly had reasons to curse.

She tried to mentally prepare for the possibility of encountering Bran and him being as cold, and heartless, as before. Meera didn't know why her dismissal hurt so much still. She knew he'd changed, but she hadn't expected Bran to act like that. Where had the contemplative and compassionate young man she'd once known gone? It couldn't be just from becoming the Three-Eyed Raven, surely…  
The old man had been distant, but he had never been completely dispassionate like Bran was. Meera declared Bran dead to his face, and he hadn't even batted an eyelid. He claimed he wasn't Bran anymore but that he still remembered Bran's feelings. But if that was true, why had he treated her the way he had? Had she merely been just a servant to him? Had Bran ever cared for her beyond what she could do for him? Meera had thought they were friends, at least.  
She still didn't know why she'd gone to see him that day. Was it really to say goodbye or just an excuse to see if Bran would ask her to stay? Meera didn't know anymore, nor did she know what she'd been expecting him to say. What had Meera wanted from him? Why am I even thinking about this? she wondered. I doubt he's given a single thought to me since I went out his door. Whatever the true reason was that she'd been to see Bran, a begrudging ‘thank you' had been on the bottom of the list of things she wanted to hear. On second thought, it hadn't even been on the list of things she expected to hear, let alone wanted to hear.

For not the first time, Meera wondered why this upset her so much. She felt as though every word from his mouth had been like a cold steel blade plunged into her heart. Losing Bran had hurt nearly as much as losing Jojen, for some reason. In some ways, it was worse. Because Bran's body lived, but everything that had made him Brandon Stark seemed gone.  
It was funny, in a way, as she realised she still had the sword from the Raven's cave. Meera was comforted by the weight of it at her side. It had been the last thing she'd had to defend Bran with and, somehow, she still had it. The sword hadn't been something she'd remembered packing nor had Meera remembered putting it on. Without thinking, she placed her off-hand on the pommel and stroked it.

“It suits you, you know?” Howland said, breaking into his daughter's thoughts. She frowned, then got a puzzled look on her face, not knowing what he meant. “The sword, Meera,” he elaborated. “It suits you. You should wear it more often.” She felt oddly proud that her father thought so. His next words, not so much. “You should be careful of treating it so lovingly, though. Any man asking for your hand might become jealous.”  
When Meera looked down and saw what he meant, she stopped and put the hand back on the reins. But not before she fixed her Lord Father with a withering glare. Husbands and marriages were so far from her mind and anything she cared for doing, that they might as well have been cities in Essos. Lord Reed, of course, found his daughter's reaction hilarious and laughed heartily.  
“Relax,” he reassured her once he'd controlled his mirth. “No-one has asked me yet, Meera. Even if they had, I would not inform you like this. Nor would I force you to go through with it, if you didn't want to.” She'd expected that would be her father's attitude towards her future marriage. Assuming she lived through the coming war, Meera knew she would have to marry. The prospect filled her with nothing but dread; she knew how a man could hurt her now, if he wanted to. Meera never wanted to be in a position that powerless again.  
Her anguish must have shown on her face because her father spoke again. “Not all men are like the ones who hurt you, Meera,” Howland said gently. “I know you know that, too.” He cleared his throat. “I also know that the thought of marriage can be particularly frightening for a lot of women, especially highborn ones.” She looked at him now, uncertain of just what she felt right at that moment. “Yet I'm certain, given what you've told me so far today, that the prospect for you might be more daunting than for most.” Howland Reed's voice grew a little colder. “And if the man who marries you ever mistreats you, I will make sure you become a widow the same day, should you wish it.”

Her eyes went wide. “Um, you're being a little scary now, Daddy,” Meera informed him. He'd very much frightened her with his last comment and she trembled a little.

“Oh, Meera,” Lord Reed said sadly. “It was never my intention to make you afraid of me. I just wanted you to know that I will always try to keep you safe, if it's at all in my power to do so.” He sighed. “Forgive me, for scaring you.”

“I do forgive you, Father,” Meera replied immediately. “And I do trust that you would do everything to try and find me one of the good men to marry.” She suddenly felt very self-conscious. “But to be perfectly honest, it's the thought of being bedded that scares me witless.”

Her father was clearly uncomfortable now. “Perhaps that's a topic best discussed with your mother, hmm?” Lord Reed suggested, shifting awkwardly in his saddle as he spoke. Meera nodded her agreement. He turned to look behind them. “And it appears that our army has caught up with us now.” That signalled the end of their present conversation.

They rejoined the rest of the Crannogmen. “We'll have to mark the path to the gate, so our people know where it's safe to tread, my lord.” Meera hated to be so formal with her sire but, in front of the soldiers and the people of Winterfell, it would be expected of her. “And I must lead you, Father,” she added quietly, “to show you the way.” He nodded his permission.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome!


	2. Arrival [Meera]

Setting out Meera, shadowed by her father, laid out the slightly circuitous route through the snow for their fighters to follow. She and her Lord Father approached the gate alone, after making certain everyone was accounted for when the column halted just out of range of any archers who may be manning the walls. “Who goes there?” called out one of the guards to them.

Her father replied, voice booming so that all the guardsmen on the gate could hear. “I am Lord Howland Reed of the Neck,” he announced. “My men and I are here to serve the king in the new Battle for the Dawn.”

“Hold there, my lord,” the guard called back. They heard movement behind the gates, and they swung open slowly for the pair. The same guard met them at the threshold. “Just you two, the rest wait outside.” Meera could tell from the set of his jaw that her father was not pleased by the man's stipulation. He begrudgingly agreed, though, and briefly left his daughter to speak to their soldiers.

While her father was absent, she noticed the guard and several other men looking at her. Silently cursing herself, she realised that she should have covered her hair. No-one would have taken her for a girl then. Meera hated their eyes on her, and she raised her voice at them. “Any man still looking at me when my Lord Father returns momentarily, will find himself without eyes come morning,” she threatened loudly. Meera didn't truly mean it, she just wanted their gazes off of her.  
She was sick of men staring at her; she was forever second-guessing why they looked at her and Meera hated it. The constant worry that they wanted… _that_ from her. She absolutely hated it. All of the men had found somewhere else to put their eyes by the time Lord Reed returned – all except the guard who'd allowed them in. “What?” Meera growled at the man. “Do you not value your sight?”

“With respect, my lady,” the man answered, shifting his feet nervously, “I value my life more than my eyes.” He swallowed, looking back and forth between the Lord and his daughter a few times before speaking again. “If I don't watch you, the king or his sister will have my head, for having failed in my duty as a watchman.” Meera was silent but kept glowering at the guardsman.

Her father must have seen it and attempted to defuse the situation. “You have my name, good man,” Lord Reed said amiably, “and it would please me to know yours.” Meera was jumpy, and she whipped her head around when she heard the gates being closed behind them. As they shut, Meera felt like an animal caught in a trap and it very much unsettled her. Turning back, she realised she'd missed part of the conversation. “Very well, Ser Mylo Manderly of White Harbor,” Meera heard her father say, “we will follow you to the Great Hall.” At that, Lord Reed dismounted his horse in a single smooth motion.

The knight of House Manderly came to offer his hand to assist Meera down from her horse. She ignored him, fixing her eyes on a point over the man's head and staring at it sullenly. He cleared his throat. “My lady, if you would take my hand please, I'll assist you in dismounting your steed.”

Her eyes snapped down to the knight. “Neither you nor anyone else will touch me when I get off this horse,” Meera snarled. “And I will break anyone's arm that tries.” She couldn't understand why she was so angry with this stranger. The knight backed off, looking startled and confused by her hostility. She got off the horse on the side opposite to where Ser Mylo was standing, finding herself full of self-loathing at poorly representing her people.  
When someone took her by the arm from behind, Meera reflexively spun around to punch whoever it was. Her father caught her by the wrist before she could connect with his face. Howland Reed held his daughter's arms tightly, to prevent her from lashing out again. Everyone was now quite deliberately avoiding looking at either of them.  
Lord Reed's eyes bored into his daughter's. Meera couldn't take it and hung her head in shame. She'd seen so many different emotions in her father's face in the brief time she'd held his gaze. Anger, embarrassment, sorrow, shame, disappointment – all had made an appearance on Howland Reed's features. He shook her once by the arms, not very hard, and Meera looked back at him once more. His lips were a taut line, and she swallowed as her shame burned in her cheeks.

Meera's Lord Father never took his eyes off of his daughter as he spoke to the knight who guarded them. “May I have a moment alone with my daughter, Ser Mylo?” Even though Lord Reed had phrased it as a request, Meera knew her father well enough to know it was really a command. The knight from White Harbor seemed to realise that, too. He looked back and forth between the pair a few times, then nodded and turned his back to them. Howland pulled Meera by the arm and dragged her over to stand in front of the closed gate.  
When they reached it, her father pulled her in close, their faces less than a hand-span apart. “What are you doing?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Look at me!” She did. Somehow, the fact that her Lord Father was speaking so quietly scared Meera more than if he'd been yelling instead. She trembled at his hushed fury as he went on. “You're bringing shame on all our people by acting this way, Meera. You're embarrassing our House, you're embarrassing yourself and, above all, you're embarrassing me! Answer me this – why?!”

Meera shrunk back from his ire. “They… they were _looking_ at me, Father!” she whimpered through her tears. “Please… I panicked. It felt like I was bait put before lizard-lions.” Meera whispered her final words, shaking in remembered terror. “And you'd left me alone in here with them…”

Lord Reed blinked at her and pulled back slightly, as if his daughter had physically struck him in the face. “I see,” Howland said awkwardly. He swallowed, then cleared his throat and began to speak to her kindly. “Eyes can lie, Meera. I know you understand that. Sometimes… sometimes we see things that aren't really there.”  
She weakly tried to protest, but her father cut her off gently. “Did they say anything untoward to you?” Meera bit her lip and shook her head. Her father's loving attitude didn't change when he spoke next. “Beyond Ser Mylo's offer of assistance, did anyone touch, or attempt to touch, you?” She was chewing on her lip now. Meera dropped her head in defeat and shook it a second time.  
Her father sighed and moved his hand from Meera's arm to gently cup her chin. Softly, he guided her head up to look at him. Howland Reed leant over and kissed his last child on the forehead. “Meera,” he said in his usual warm tone, “I can see now how badly this has affected you.” Her beloved father pulled back and took away his hand, but not before caressing her cheek with a brush of his fingers. “I'll not leave you alone again, my girl. If you desire that of me, I mean.” She nodded and gave him a small smile.  
“I'll also try to enforce your wish not to be touched.” He frowned, looking away, then quickly looking back appearing more determined. “But I do require you to apologise to Ser Mylo, even though I know you don't want to right now.” Meera gaped at her father incredulously. “Fine,” Howland responded, throwing up his arms, “I won't force you to do it. But I do need you to at least try to be civil…”

Meera nodded. “I'll do my best, Father,” she promised him. “For our people and for you. I am trying to be worthy of succeeding you and to learn how to lead. But I need help to keep my feelings in check. My temper especially.” Meera swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I want to keep making you proud,” she added quietly. “Yet, I'm so scared; I'm terrified of what's coming… and terrified of what's passed. Please help me stay strong, Daddy.”

The Lord of the Crannogmen drew his heir into a tight hug. “I'll support you and have your back until my dying day, Mim,” Howland vowed. Meera was glad her father couldn't see her face then. Silent tears streaked down her cheeks as she wondered if he'd still be saying that come dusk. Perhaps if her parents disowned her, she might feel more at peace when the army of the dead ended her. It shamed her to think that way, but often she wished she'd died in her friend's place... or in her brother's place.

Sometimes Meera found herself wishing that Bran's uncle had never rescued them beyond the Wall. That way they could have died together – her and Bran. Surely that would be better than the aching chasm in her chest where her heart once lay? Other times, especially after leaving Winterfell for home, Meera contemplated ending it herself. A thought of jumping from one of Winterfell's towers had crossed her mind, until it was quashed by the memory of how Bran had lost use of his legs. He'd fallen onto hard ground from one of the taller towers and it hadn't killed him, only maimed him – she had no hope of succeeding with the snow drifts being as deep as they were. The only thing that terrified Meera more than the White Walkers was trying to kill herself and botching the job. She felt as though she was going insane. Too tired to keep on living but too frightened of failing to die and making life even worse.  
Still other times, Meera had thought about just wandering out into the snow and allowing the cold to take her. But she knew that it was cowardly to do that, especially without farewelling her parent's first. Then, after returning home, she found herself thinking about wandering out into the marshes and just letting the wildlife get her. Meera's head was imploding from all the pressure it was under. She hated herself enough to want to end it – to escape from her guilt and self-loathing – but loved her parents enough not to rob them of their last offspring. Again, Meera's mind circled around to the conclusion that she should have died in Jojen's stead.

Feeling her father's embrace loosening, Meera quickly wiped at her face with her sleeves. She forced herself to smile at her Lord Father, even though she felt awful. _Hopefully, Father will think I was crying tears of happiness,_ Meera desperately prayed. “Let's return to our hosts, Meera,” Howland suggested. “It's unwise to keep your liege lords waiting.”  
She fell into step with her father, walking slightly behind and to the left of him. Meera had done it on purpose so that Lord Reed would be a physical buffer between her and Ser Mylo. Her father and the knight both seemed to realise what she was doing, too. Howland loudly cleared his throat. There was no escaping what her father expected of her now.

Meera swallowed physically, as well as metaphorically regarding what was left of her pride. “Excuse me, Ser Mylo,” she said demurely, “I wish to apologise for my earlier behaviour towards you.” The knight looked over at her as they walked, and she kept hiding behind her father not meeting Ser Mylo's eyes. “It has been a long day, but that is no excuse for my rudeness to you.” Meera couldn't keep the sadness from her voice when she spoke next. “I have an aversion to being touched, especially by strangers, and I overreacted to your kind offer to help me dismount. Please, forgive me for my behaviour and my foibles.” She went quiet and waited for the knight's reply.

Their escort graciously accepted her apology. “You are forgiven, my lady,” Ser Mylo replied. “Unfortunately, I think we may all be in for some long, hard days before all this is over.” Both Meera and her Lord Father nodded their agreement with this sentiment.  
Lord Reed engaged the knight of House Manderly in small talk, and Meera bowed out of the conversation. She dropped back a little to give them some room. Somehow, she also needed to prepare herself mentally for the possibility of encountering Bran in the Great Hall. Meera's nerves were already frazzled by the uncertainty; she had no idea how she was going to hold up for the rest of the day.  
Her father and the guardsman had turned to discussing the politics in the North – who controlled which castles and who was head of which House now, as well as King Jon's whereabouts. Meera knew she should be paying more attention to the conversation. But she found herself unable to concentrate, given that she felt like a criminal taking their final walk to the chopping block.  
The talk had moved on to which Houses supported Jon Snow most strongly, and their lords, by the time they reached the Great Hall of Winterfell. Meera was shocked – and secretly a little pleased – to find out that the Lord who was supporting House Stark the fiercest, was not a lord at all but a lady. Not to mention that this Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island was only twelve years old and the embodiment of the bear of her family's sigil.

From Meera's vantage point, she saw her father turn his head aside, away from Ser Mylo, after Lady Mormont's given name was revealed and noticed the smallest of smirks quirking at the corner of his mouth that was closest to her. She was puzzled for a moment, before remembering that he had known Lyanna Stark; and judging his response by what Meera knew of her sire, Howland Reed was amused that the Lady of Bear Island was so much like her namesake. Given her age, Lyanna Mormont _had_ to be named for Lyanna Stark. Meera briefly wondered how many other girls out there shared a name with the ill-fated she-wolf, before putting it out of her mind. She had also seen the sadness behind her Lord Father's eyes. Before Meera could ask about it though, they arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall.  
Two men were guarding the door, and Ser Mylo spoke to one of them in hushed tones. As he whispered to the knight in return, the door guard looked at both Reeds in turn and then back to Ser Mylo, nodding all the while. The second guard leant on his spear and eyed them with suspicion. Not a spear, Meera realised – a trident. Another Manderly man, it seemed; she recalled that the mermen armed themselves with tridents with a similar frequency to her own people and their frog-spears. Meera's fingers itched, suddenly longing to be drawing a bowstring. Absentmindedly, she placed her fingers on the buckle of her sword belt and fretted at the surrounding leather. Her other hand found the sword and rested on it, as Meera's fingers worried at its pommel.

The guard that Ser Mylo had been speaking to handed the knight his trident and shuffled off after looking at the Reeds again quickly. Manderly took up the vacated guard position by the door. “Not to worry, my lord, my lady,” he told them cheerfully in turn, “our friend has gone to announce your presence to the Starks discreetly.” Muffled shouting that Meera couldn't quite discern the content of came from the other side of the door. Ser Mylo noticed how intently she was paying attention.  
“They're having an open council meeting, my lady,” he said by way of explanation. “Any Lord or Lady of a Keep is welcome to attend, in addition to those sitting on the council, provided they've made themselves known to the Starks first.” The knight cringed, as more indistinct shouting was heard from the chamber beyond. “Unfortunately, the longer the king is absent, the more decorum seems to go out the window.” Meera was dumbstruck by the fact that Jon Snow still hadn't returned from the south. Before she recovered enough to say anything, the room behind the door fell silent. “Ah,” Ser Mylo commented, “that will be our friend now. Erm... my lord, my lady... you may want to stand to the side. We're about to get a mass exodus of possibly discontented lords.” The Reeds did as was suggested.

Lord Reed took the opportunity to ask the question Meera had wanted to earlier. “If the king is not here, then who rules in his stead? Who is the Stark in Winterfell, Ser?” Meera suspected she knew who it was, based on Bran's apathy before she'd left the castle. She also thought her father knew too, he was merely fishing for confirmation.

The knight of White Harbor smiled broadly. “All three of the living true-born Starks are home now, but Lady Sansa holds court.” His smile diminished somewhat. “The other two are not often seen, and usually only together with Lady Sansa or each other.” He lowered his voice. “Truth be told, most in the castle are glad of it. Lord Brandon and Lady Arya are...” Ser Mylo struggled to find the right word, and Meera wrestled with the urge to draw her sword. She would not hear Bran insulted.  
As if he sensed what his daughter was thinking, Howland surreptitiously grabbed her forearm to stay any rash action on her part. The knight was too distracted to see Lord Reed's movement, especially given that the Reeds were now standing with their backs to the wall, with Howland in between Meera and Ser Mylo. “They are different,” Manderly concluded before he sighed. “Many believe them to be irreparably damaged by their unorthodox upbringing.” Her arm tensed again and so did her father's grip tighten in response when he felt it.

Howland leant over and whispered in his daughter's ear. “Give me the sword, Meera,” he ordered. “Now... before you do something we'll all regret.” She turned her head to look her father in the eye. Her Lord Father wasn't upset, as far as she could tell; more worried and a little desperate. Meera furrowed her brow and bit her lip, as she hesitated for a moment before lowering her eyes and nodding.

It seemed as though Ser Mylo had noticed at least part of the exchange between the Reeds because he was quite apologetic in his tone as he went on speaking. “I'm not one of those who thinks so, my lord, my lady,” the knight said hastily. “I was merely relaying what the general mood of the castle is.”

Meera turned away without answering, as she busied herself unbuckling the sword belt girding her waist, knowing that her father would do the talking this time. She didn't trust herself to speak anyway. It was not as though the man had been untruthful; Bran was different, and Meera knew he was damaged in some way, but she didn't believe it was unfixable. Meera _couldn't_ let herself believe that, or she might lose the last shreds of hope that she had for a future beyond the war she was here to fight.  
Before she could dwell on it further, or her father could speak, the door to the Great Hall opened, and a bunch of grizzled old men poured out, grumbling and muttering amongst themselves. Every now and then, a younger man or a woman issued forth. None of them seemed particularly happy. Nor did any of them pay the Reeds the slightest bit of attention, which suited Meera just fine.

The guard Ser Mylo had sent in earlier returned with a man who had snow-white hair and bore some resemblance to the knight of White Harbor. “Bad tidings, Mylo,” the man who Meera assumed to be Lord Manderly said. “Come to my chambers after the evening meal, and we'll talk more about it then. Tell the other commanders of ours to come as well... I don't want to explain things any more than I have to.”  
Meera had handed over the sword to her father earlier in the procession, and he was in the middle of buckling the sword belt on when Lord Manderly had appeared. The Lord of White Harbor briefly ran his eyes over both Reeds as Ser Mylo gave a 'my lord' in reply to his Lord Cousin's instructions. Lord Manderly rested his gaze on Lord Reed. “You'll have to forgive me, my lord,” the old man said with a smile and a glint in his eye. “I recognise you as one of the Crannog Lords who went south to fight the Mad King... But I must confess, I cannot remember which one.”

Meera's father smiled in return as he finally finished tying on the sword. “There's no need for forgiveness, Lord Manderly,” Lord Reed replied, “for I was not the Lord of my House when I went south with Lord Eddard for the rebellion. Just Howland Reed, heir to the Neck.”

Lord Manderly extended his arm to his counterpart, and her father took it without hesitation. They shook hands. “Ah, the famous and enigmatic Lord Howland Reed finally emerges again from his swamps.” Meera scowled at the old man. He just laughed heartily at her reaction. “And you would be Lord Reed's daughter, yes?” The Lord finished shaking Howland's hand and extended his to Meera. “Ser Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, at your service, my lady,” he introduced himself.

She froze, staring at his outstretched hand. _Does he want me to shake it or does he mean to kiss it?_   Meera wondered, panicking because either option involved being touched. _Breathe! Remember to breathe!_   “My lord,” she mumbled, as she dropped her eyes to stare hard at a spot on the floor between them. Without realising it, Meera leaned in closer to her father.

The Lord of White Harbor withdrew his hand but not his smile. “Is this your first trip beyond the swamps, my lady?” he asked. His warmth appeared genuine, and Meera relaxed a little.

“The second, my lord,” she replied, having gained a bit of confidence. “I'm not used to Lords beyond those that I will someday rule.” _Gods willing..._ Technically, what Meera said was not untrue, given that she considered Bran and his sisters' royalty, rather than just nobility.

Lord Manderly nodded his understanding. His knightly cousin chose that moment to whisper in his ear. “Ah!” the Lord exclaimed. “I see why you didn't want to take my hand, my lady.” She looked at him worriedly. “It's no problem, and I do somewhat understand your reticence. Do not think that you offended me, for you didn't.” He smiled warmly. “My late wife told me more than once that I was sometimes too friendly for my own good.”  
Meera's eyes widened. She sincerely hoped Lord Manderly was not in the market for a new wife and now looking her way. His face fell, and he looked worriedly at her father and then Meera. “Forgive me, my lady.” His apology was hastily given. “I have no designs on a younger woman such as yourself to wed. If I were looking for another wife, I would be looking for one more my own age. I have plenty of heirs named Manderly; there's no need for me to have more.”  
He kept going. “Not that there's anything wrong with you, my lady.” Lord Manderly frowned and then finished in a sad voice. “I can tell that the thought of marrying an old man like me horrifies you.” Meera dropped her head and shook it, wanting to melt into the floor. She then looked to her father, silently begging him to help rectify the situation.

Lord Reed himself looked torn as to what to do. He found his voice after a few tense moments of silence. “That's not the reason, my lord,” Howland said sadly. Meera turned away, cheeks burning with shame. Lord Manderly raised an eyebrow, and her father drew her into a hug. He continued quietly. “Long story short, I had a son as well as a daughter. They left home one day, but only my daughter returned some time later.” Meera started to cry against her father's chest.  
Howland patted his daughter on the back as he hugged her. “For a long time, she refused to say anything as to what happened, no matter how many times her mother and I asked her. All we knew was that our son was dead, and our daughter was too distraught to tell us how.” Both Manderlys were listening intently, while the guards at the door were doing their best not to.  
“Only very recently, she opened up to me. They'd come across a band of outlaws. When they tried to rape her, my daughter only managed to escape because my son fought them off long enough for her to get away.” Howland Reed sighed heavily. “She's not horrified at the prospect of marriage to an old man, my lord... she is horrified at the prospect of marriage to any man.”

“You weren't supposed to tell,” Meera wailed against her father's chest. Thankfully, that muffled her voice so that it didn't carry very far.

“I'm sorry, my girl,” Howland said apologetically. “Lying was the only alternative in this case, and it would not have been helpful in the long run.” She knew her father meant well but if the story got out, Meera would likely be labelled damaged goods and have people randomly staring at her more often. The thought of that made her shudder.

Lord Manderly hung his head. “Forgive me, my lord,” he begged. “And you as well, my lady. I assumed something out of pride that was untrue and took offence. It was also my fault for accidentally bringing up a topic which upset you, my lady. You have my sincerest apologies for any distress I've caused you.”

Ser Mylo spoke next. “I see now why you acted as you did at the gates, my lady,” he said gently. “You weren't being rude, you were trying to keep yourself safe.” The knight turned to Meera's father and quietly asked him a question. “It was today she told you, wasn't it, my lord? It would explain several of the things you've said around me.” Meera felt Lord Reed nod as he held her. “In that case, my lady, it was unnecessary for you to apologise to me. It truly has been a bad day for you, and you acted in a way that I find completely understandable.” He took a deep breath. “You have my vow as a knight that I shall not divulge what has been said here unless you expressly wish it.”

His Lord Cousin spoke again. “You have my vow as a knight to the same... and as a Lord, I swear that none of my men will speak of this either.” Meera raised her head, surprised that these two near total strangers would do her such a kindness so soon after meeting her. Lord Manderly had turned to the guards by the time she'd looked up. “You got that, you two? If I hear that either of you told, you'll find yourselves both in the van against the undead...”  
The two men looked startled and rapidly agreed. Meera let go of her father and moved to his far side again. Lord Manderly leant over and whispered softly into Lord Reed's ear on the side Meera wasn't on. It was barely audible, but she made out enough. “I wouldn't actually do that, you know. They just need to think I would...”

“As you say, my lord,” Howland answered cryptically, giving a wicked little smirk as he did. Clearly, he had found something about Lord Manderly's underhanded tactics amusing. “Still, I feel that such a punishment might be too cruel and unusual, perhaps...”

Lord Manderly laughed heartily. “You should come see me at some point after you're settled in, my lord. I'd be delighted to speak with another lord. Honestly, I'm afraid all of us already here... we've all begun to get on each other's nerves.” He didn't move any closer to Meera, but he did turn and address her. “My lady, would you tell me your name at least, please? I would feel bad to keep thinking of you only as 'Lord Reed's daughter' in my mind.”

“Meera, my lord,” she answered, granting the Lord of White Harbor his wish. “My name is Meera Reed.”

He smiled kindly at her. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Meera of House Reed. If you ever find yourself in White Harbor, I would be pleased to introduce you to my granddaughters. You are of an age with them, and I suspect you would get along swimmingly with at least one of them, if not both.” Lord Manderly started to move off, his business concluded for the time being.  
He turned back and added something as a sort of afterthought. “Oh... a word of warning for you all, before you go in – Lady Sansa does not seem in the best of moods today.” The old man shook his head. “Just be careful not to rile her up. The last few people to anger her ended up coming to bad ends. Some say by her own hand.” Lord Reed thanked him for his candour and took a moment to seemingly prepare himself before they entered the Great Hall of Winterfell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be shy - please leave me some feedback. :D


	3. Many Meetings [Meera]

Meera found the information and suppositions about Sansa Stark surprising. Bran's sister had seemed a capable woman, but she had not struck the girl from the swamps as a cold-blooded killer. Lady Sansa had appeared to rule well, and Meera thought the position had suited her well. Jon Snow must have valued his half-sister a great deal to leave her with such a great responsibility.  
Bran's half-brother had been a great puzzlement to Meera. From everything she'd heard and seen, Jon Snow was the opposite of what most bastards were seen to be – he wasn't lustful or lecherous, nor was he covetous or jealous of his true-born siblings, nor did he wish to steal their birthright or their inheritance. Jon Snow seemed like an honourable and chivalrous man. Meera had a thought. _Perhaps it is because he was raised at Winterfell by the Starks and with the Starks?_

She didn't get any time to dwell on it further, as Meera's father nodded to Ser Mylo and the guards swung open the door to the Great Hall. The Manderly knight led them inside, Howland following him and Meera lagging a little further back. The guards closed the door behind her, and she couldn't help but turn to check they hadn't come through after her. A little of Meera's tension eased upon seeing that they hadn't.  
Her attention was brought back to the inside of the enormous room as their knightly escort introduced them. “My ladies, may I present to you Howland of House Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and the Neck,” he began. “Also, his daughter Meera of House Reed, whom I believe is heir to the same.” She saw her father nod in confirmation that Ser Mylo was indeed correct.

Meera found herself looking around the cavernous space. There were a few guards sprinkled here and there, as well as an old grey-beard and a very young dark-haired female warrior clad in leathers seated together on a bench to the side. Lastly, Lady Sansa sat alone at the high table, looking positively regal with her fiery tied back loosely. She held up a hand to ward off any further speech by the knight of White Harbor as she studied her guests.  
“Well met, Ser Mylo,” Sansa said, every bit as regally as she looked when she spoke. “Welcome to Winterfell, my lord and my lady.” Meera cringed inside at being addressed so formally. “I am Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell. The King-in-the-North is unfortunately currently the King who is not in the North at present. But I've received word that he is returning to the North as we speak.” Something in her voice made Meera believe that Sansa was angry about that fact, but no-one had much time to think about that, as the door at the far end of the hall opened.

A brown-haired girl that vaguely reminded her of Bran marched through the door followed by a man with hair the colour of snow. He looked old enough to have sired Meera's father! “I found Lord Royce for you, Sansa,” the girl said informed her without any courtesies whatsoever and plonked herself down at the table beside the red-head.

Meera's father gasped, and the whole roomed turned to stare at him. “Lyanna?” Lord Reed said. It came out somewhat strangled. Meera noted the other girl, the one in leathers, stirred at that briefly. Howland Reed took a cautious step forward. “No,” he stated quietly. “But you _must_ be Ned's other girl. You look too much like her to be otherwise...” He bowed his head. “Forgive me, Lady Arya.” The girl growled at Meera's father but said nothing.

Sansa Stark glared at her sister. “You need not apologise, my lord,” she said with a graciousness that did not match the look she was giving her sibling. “I find myself needing to apologise on Arya's behalf, though. She does not like to be reminded she is a lady.” Arya indifferently canted her head and started to scan around the room. “Behind her is...”

The Crannogman cut her off. “Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, in the Vale.” The Stark sisters both looked surprised that he knew the man. To be fair, Meera was too, but she assumed it was because they'd met many years before. Probably during Robert's Rebellion. The old lord, on the other hand, was studying Meera's father quite intensely. Lord Reed addressed him now. “You probably don't remember me, my lord. But we met at Riverrun the day our liege lords married.”

Lord Royce narrowed his eyes. “You were that Crannogman friend of Ned's, weren't you?” he asked. Lord Reed nodded. The old man seemed to be trying to recall something else. “Reed, isn't it?” Meera's father nodded again, and she noticed a small smile pulling at his lips. “I saw you first at the tourney, sitting with the Starks. You seemed to get along with them quite well.” _He must mean the tourney at Harrenhal,_ Meera thought.

“Aye,” the Lord of the Neck replied agreeably. “That was my very first trip away from home. The Starks gave me their hospitality and a place to sleep. They, in turn, earned my unyielding loyalty until my last breath is taken.” His face fell. “I only wish I could have done more for them.” Meera came up behind him and placed a comforting hand on his back. Howland Reed met his daughter's eyes and gave her a little melancholy smile. She gave a small nod and then withdrew a few paces to the rear.  
Meera went back to silently observing the room and the people it contained. Lord Royce took a seat on the bench opposite the little lady. The Crannogwoman found that she had to stifle her mirth when she learned that the small woman in leathers was none other than Lyanna Mormont. It certainly explained why the lady had moved upon hearing Meera's father say the name Lyanna. She'd probably wondered why this man she'd just met was randomly saying her name.  
The conversation meandered. Meera attempted to stay out of sight while her father and their knightly guard did the talking. Bran was yet to put in an appearance, but the Stark sisters were their own type of stressful. The only way Meera could describe the pair's relationship was fraught. They were tense and seemed to be at odds in some way. Arya's eyes scared Meera when they looked her way.

The door behind the high table opened, and Bran was wheeled in on his chair contraption. Meera quickly ducked behind her father, in the hope that Bran hadn't seen her. She started to panic a bit as she realised she had no chance of avoiding him now.

“This is my brother, Brandon, my lord,” Sansa introduced him. “Bran, this is...”

“Lord Howland Reed. Father's friend,” Bran cut her off. “I know... that is why I came.” Meera was so happy to hear his voice again, that it took her a few moments to register the fact that he still sounded cold. “It is good that you are here now. Your arrival is very timely.”

Meera felt trapped now, even more than she had at the front gates. “My daughter is here with me too, Lord Brandon,” her father informed him. She knew his tone well enough to hear her Lord Father's caution in announcing that fact. Meera took a few deep breaths and then stepped out from behind Howland to face the Stark siblings properly.

She hesitantly met Bran's gaze. Looking into his eyes was hard, she found. Meera desperately longed to see a glimmer of life in them; something to let her know that her friend wasn't truly dead. She looked away quickly to the top of the high table when she didn't see what she needed from him. Everyone present seemed to feel the tension between them.  
The hall was silent for a little while before Bran spoke again and shattered the tenuous peace. “Hello, Meera.” That was all he said. It was flat and cold. Just like the day he dismissed her. No apology, no other acknowledgement... just hello. Nothing had changed with him, it appeared. She raised her head to look him in the eyes again.

Meera felt herself growing angry. All her hurt and pent-up frustration boiled to the surface. She found herself moving slowly and deliberately towards Bran, never taking her eyes off him. Meera didn't know why she was going towards him. She wanted to flee, she wanted to cry again, she wanted to grab the stranger in front of her by the tunic and shake him until her friend came back. What Meera actually did when she reached him shocked everyone in the room except Bran, herself included.  
She leant down slightly and struck him across the face with an open hand. “Did you see that coming, _my lord_?” Meera spat. “Did you?” Strong arms grabbed her from behind, and as she began to struggle with whoever held her, Meera could have sworn that in the instant before she broke eye contact him, she had seen the barest suggestion of a smile quirk at the corner of Bran's lips. No, she couldn't have, Meera decided. That was wishful thinking on her part.  
Meera struggled some more. “Let me go!” she pleaded with whoever held her. Tears threatened to escape her eyes as she continued to fight. “Please. Don't...” Meera shook terribly now. Whether it was from shock at realising what she'd done to Bran could have serious consequences, or whether being held in such a way was reminding Meera of her time at the mercy of the Night's Watch deserters beyond the Wall, she couldn't say. But she fought like a woman possessed until she heard her father's voice. 

“Calm down, Mim,” he said softly in her ear. “It's just me... only me. I've got you. I won't hurt you, but you'll hurt yourself if you don't stop fighting.” She stopped struggling, but Lord Reed still didn't release the hold he had on his daughter's arms from behind her. “There's a good girl,” he cooed in her ear. “You're safe... it's just me. I'm not them.” So, her father had recognised the reason she'd resisted being restrained so vigorously.  
Meera felt shame now. She'd embarrassed the Crannogmen and their Lord. Again. She mumbled an apology to him through her tears. Meera had the thought that, although her blubbering probably made her words incomprehensible, the sentiment that she was reticent was conveyed.

“Hmm... That hurt more than I expected it to.” She raised her head up to see Bran rubbing his face with his hand and looking contemplative. Both his sisters were staring at him like he'd grown a second head or some such. Nobody knew what to do about the seemingly bizarre behaviour the Stark was engaging in, not even the other Starks.  
He raised a hand and waved vaguely at Lady Mormont and Lord Royce. “Leave us. All of you.” Everyone who was not a Stark or a Reed made to leave, including the knight of White Harbor. “Not you, Ser Mylo,” Bran ordered. “You stay.” Sansa nodded when the room looked to her for direction. The knight did as he was bid and everyone else left the room, including the other guards. Mormont and Royce did not appear very pleased, either by Meera's behaviour or the fact that they were being summarily dismissed, but they obeyed nonetheless.  
After the room was clear Bran went on speaking, apparently oblivious to the stares and shakes of the head that Arya and Sansa were giving him. “I didn't think you would come back. The possibility was there when I saw your father coming – of you accompanying him. But it was not a strong one. Much more often I saw you stay home with your mother.” Bran frowned. “I have angered you again,” he stated.

“Of course I'm angry, you fool!” Meera yelled. “I gave you everything I had. For years! When I left home, I had everything, and when I returned, I had nothing. _Nothing!_ You stole the life out of me and then discarded me like I was worse than excrement.” She found herself crying. “I hate you nearly as much as I hate myself. For letting you use me. My brother died and for what? So that everything that made you Bran could die too?”  
She remembered something he'd said last time they'd seen each other. “You said before I left that you weren't Brandon Stark anymore but that you remembered how it felt to be him... Well, I say that you are full of shit. Either that or I sorely overestimated how much you cared for the rest of us beforehand. If you remembered, you wouldn't have been cruel to your only remaining friend in the world.” Lord Reed tightened his grip on his daughter's arms slightly and spoke kindly to her again to gentle her rage.

“It was necessary,” Bran stated, staring off to the side of the room.

“Necessary!” Meera screamed. “I can't even... You are unbelievable!” She shook her head trying to wrap her head around the words emanating from Bran's mouth. Her father tried to soothe her again, and she snapped. “Stop it, Father,” Meera demanded. “I don't deserve it. Bran treats me with cruelty in payment for my kindness, and you treat me with kindness in payment for my cruelty. How does that make sense?” She felt as though someone was sitting on her chest and crushing her.

“What do you mean, Meera?” Howland asked his daughter. He sounded shocked, surprised, fearful – a dozen other things besides. “If you're talking about your brother, that wasn't your fault...”

“Yes, it was,” Meera retorted bitterly. “I'm sure Bran would be happy to tell you how Jojen died, wouldn't you, Bran? Go on, tell him. Make my father hate me as much as I hate myself. Make him wish I'd never been born, just like I sometimes do.”

“What are you talking about?” her father said plaintively.

She saw Bran look a little above and beyond her, meeting her father's eyes no doubt. “Your daughter, whether intentionally or not, has misled you regarding the circumstances surrounding your son's death.” Lord Reed released his grip on her and Meera sank to the floor sobbing pitifully. “Meera slit Jojen's throat.”

“ _What?!_ ” screamed the Lord of the Neck. Meera's shoulders slumped. This was it. Father was going to kill her now, for sure. “Explain yourself. Now!” She didn't know who her father was addressing, out of her and Bran, but Meera couldn't bring herself to even raise her head to check, let alone move.

“It was... necessary,” Bran said again. He sounded slightly pained. Meera looked up at him and saw his furrowed brow. “Jojen was already dying – Meera taking a knife to her brother was a kindness. To prevent him suffering further. Then the Children burned him so he wouldn't turn.” Bran met her eye now. “Brandon did care for you, he just didn't know how to express it adequately.”  
She gaped at him incredulously. “I... there was so much else to do, so much expected of me. I know I failed you; then, as well as when I dismissed you here without any explanation.” He looked away into space again. “But if I had the chance again, I would still have made you leave.”

Meera rolled her eyes and snorted in disgust. “I hate you too,” she spat.

Bran turned his head back to her, somewhat perplexed. “No, you don't,” he said quietly, before his gaze became unfocused again. “It would be easier if that were the case. But we both know that is not the truth.” It surprised Meera that although his tone was still mostly flat, Bran had shown more emotion in his last two sentences than he had in the rest of the conversation. Not that it had been very much at all.  
He paused briefly then spoke again. “Perhaps, I could have been gentler when you left... but it was not the foremost thing on my mind at the time. Keeping you safe for the part of me that is still Bran, was.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Meera replied without much energy. She didn't believe his words were sincere, but she was spent and tired of fighting as well.

Bran tilted his head, eyeing her once more. “You don't believe me,” he stated.

“How can I, Bran?” she said back. Meera was beyond hurt now, but the apathetic part of her was winning currently. “None of us here, other than you, can see every gods-damned thing under the sun. What you've said is incomprehensible without the context that clearly can only be seen by you.” She sighed heavily. “I never should have come back. I should have just stayed home and died there, where the last people in the world who cared about me were.”  
She choked on her next words as she said them. “Maybe you should have just left me behind beyond the Wall. At least then I wouldn't hurt so much.” Meera placed her hand over her heart. “The worst part of it is, even now, I would still do whatever you asked of me. How stupid does that make me?” Her father came and sat behind her. Lord Reed hugged her, and she leaned into it before her rational mind objected.

“It doesn't make you stupid, Meera,” Howland told her. “It makes perfect sense to me. But I think that is a subject to be discussed more privately. Up you get.” Her father helped her to her feet again with a gentleness Meera felt she didn't deserve. “I think that's more than enough for today, wouldn't you say, my lord?” Bran nodded, seemingly disinterested again. “And you, my ladies?”

Meera didn't look up to see the response of Bran's sisters. She assumed Arya nodded because she only heard Sansa speak. “Of course, my lord. I agree and think it would be a splendid idea if we all took some time to cool off.” Sansa shifted her attention. “Ser Mylo?” She waved the knight over and whispered something in his ear. “You know whereabouts that is?”

“Aye, my lady,” he replied. “I'll escort Lord and Lady Reed there right now, if you like.”

“Lady Reed is my mother,” Meera muttered under her breath. Her father gave her a look that she interpreted as saying 'shut up before you get us into even more trouble then we're already in'. She was appropriately chastised by it and looked at her feet. Thankfully, if anyone had heard what she said, they'd ignored it.

Sansa waved the knight away and granted him leave to show the Reeds to their chambers. They followed him out the door. Before they were out of earshot, Meera heard the Starks speaking with each other. “What in the Seven Hells did you do to that poor girl, Brandon Stark?” Arya demanded to know. “How can you see everything yet not notice what you mean to her?”

“I'm going to the godswood,” was the only reply Bran's sister got.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the chapter title from LOTR... I don't think Tolkien will mind. :P  
> Alternate names I was considering were "Four Meetings And A Confrontation" and "Showdown At Winterfell". Chapter names be hard...  
> Chapter 4 is in the works now, I'm just doing a final edit and polish.
> 
> As always, your thoughts are welcome! :D


	4. Introspection and Conversations [Meera]

While seeing Bran again hadn't gone as badly as she imagined, Meera decided it was still a bit of a disaster. She was so caught up in her own thoughts and feelings of inadequacy, that she didn't notice where they were headed until they were nearly there. Meera immediately halted in her tracks. Those with her stopped as well when they realised.  
“No,” she said defiantly. “I'm not staying in that room.” Her Lord Father was about to raise his voice at her, then thought better of it. Instead, he looked at her expectantly. _Wonderful! s_ he thought sarcastically. _Now he wants me to explain myself._ Meera pointed behind her at the door they'd just passed. “That room there is Bran's, Father. I am not taking the room beside it.”

“My lady,” Ser Mylo interjected, “this is to my knowledge the only room in the castle suitable for a lord such as your father that is not already in use.” Meera glared at him. “If being so close to Lord Brandon's chambers bothers you, I can certainly go back to Lady Sansa and speak with her for you. But you should know that she specifically wanted you to be placed in the room that I'm taking you to.”

 _Of course she did!_ Meera thought in annoyance. Bran's eldest sister was too clever by half, it seemed. “Alright,” she said, before sighing in frustration. “Let's go then. Before I regret changing my mind.” They walked the small distance to their destination and entered the room.  
Meera noted that it was about the same size as Bran's and furnished similarly. She looked around and tried to work out whose room this had been. An inkling in her mind said it was most likely Rickon's. If that was the case, Meera had another reason to not want to stay in this particular room. _Bran probably never told his sisters that I knew Rickon as well,_ she deduced. _Gods do I have an urge to hit him again..._

She threw herself on the bed and gave the two men with her a look that dared them to try and make her move. Lord Reed was pensive for a few moments and then shrugged. Ser Mylo glanced at the pair a few times individually. “I'll fetch a cot, my lord,” he suggested as a reason to excuse himself. Meera's father thanked him, and the knight left to get the additional bed.

Howland closed the door behind their former escort and then barred the door. He turned to face Meera. She saw that he was having difficulty controlling his emotions. So Meera drew her knees to her chest in an effort to feel smaller. “We need to talk, you and I...” her father started tensely. He crossed his arms. “However, I don't have the time right now.” Lord Reed sighed. “Nor do I think I have the patience or correct frame of mind, either.”  
She buried her face in her hands, feeling yet again that she had failed him. “I am not admonishing you, Meera,” he added gently. “I'm just having a little trouble with how many revelations there has been today. It's not surprising that you are having difficulty coping. I'm a little overwhelmed, and I'm certain that I don't even know the half of it.” Meera uncovered her face and she looked to her sire. He appeared to be as uncomfortable as she was.  
“I must go and perform my lordly duties now, Mim,” Howland told her apologetically. He sighed. “When they are done, I will return and fulfil my fatherly duties. I wish I didn't have to prioritise them that way, but I must.” Lord Reed came and sat beside her on the bed. Holding out his hand to her, he waited until she grabbed it with her own before smiling broadly. “I know you probably won't believe me, Meera, when I say this... But I love you more than you could ever know.”  
Howland gently squeezed his daughter's hand. “Nothing I have found out today has changed that.” Meera smiled back at him. It was a fairly weak one, yet it was all she could currently muster. Her father seemed to understand though. He let go of her hand then leant forward to kiss her on the forehead. As he stood, he rested his hand on her face briefly.  
Lord Reed slowly walked to the door, unbuckling the sword belt at his waist as he went. He placed it atop a table near the door. “You keep this, alright? I feel you're safer with it than without it.” Her father frowned. “Please don't do anything silly while I'm gone, Meera,” he said sadly. “I couldn't bear to lose you too.” She saw him wipe away a stray tear on his cheek.

Meera nodded. “I won't, Father,” she promised. “I swear it.”

“Thank you, Mim,” Howland replied. “Now, for my own peace of mind, would you please bar the door after I leave?” She nodded again. “I'll return as soon as I'm able. Alright?” Meera nodded a third time. “I'll be back.” He left, and then she hauled herself up from where she lay to bar the door. When that was done, Meera flopped back down on the bed and let her mind wander. Time passed.  
There was a knock at the door. Meera sat up in the bed and looked at the barred entryway. She panicked for a moment, thinking it might be Bran, before realising not enough time had elapsed for him to have been to the godswood and back. Nor could it have been her father back from completing his Lordly tasks. That would have taken longer than he'd been gone for. Perhaps Ser Mylo, with the cot?

Meera wasn't taking any chances. She drew the sword out of its sheath on the tabletop and moved towards the wooden barrier that separated her from whoever lay beyond it. “Who is it?” she asked, mostly succeeding in keeping her fear from her voice.

“Arya Stark,” came the reply. “May I come in?”

Meera rested her head against the door, as she stood with one hand upon the beam wedged across it and tightly gripping the sword in the other. “Are you alone?” she said in hushed tones. Her emotions seeped through this time, despite Meera's wishes to the contrary.

She heard the scuffling of feet on stone, and after about a minute Arya answered her through the door. “I'm alone. There's no-one here besides us... I've checked.”

Meera bit her lip. “Just a moment,” she said after releasing it. Closing her eyes, Meera took a few deep breaths trying to calm herself. Opening them again, she looked at her hand, then lifted the beam blocking the door. Meera backed up a few feet and held the sword out in front of her defensively. The door swung open and Arya Stark strode through it. She took a cursory glance at the sword in Meera's hand then surveyed the rest of the room in an almost disinterested fashion.  
Arya closed the door and barred it again behind her. She turned back to Meera and regarded her with a look that was almost predatory. It made Meera extraordinarily uncomfortable, and so she shifted her weight on her feet then backed up a little further. Arya nonchalantly leant against the frame of the entryway, crossed her arms and lifted one foot to rest against the wall behind her.

She tilted her head at the Crannogwoman. “Do you even know how to use that?” Arya asked, with a small nod to indicate the sword Meera held.

Something about the other woman's tone disturbed Meera. Something... dangerous. She shifted nervously again. “I do,” declared Meera. She sighed and made an admission. “Not very well. My father taught me, but I never took to the sword. The bow and the spear, yes, but never the sword.” Meera lowered the weapon. Her instincts told her that if the Stark girl wanted her dead, she would be already. Especially considering the weaponry Meera had observed at her waist, both before and now.  
She walked to the desk and, turning her back to Arya, re-sheathed the blade. Meera rested her hands on the tabletop and braced herself. Pushing off again, she faced the younger of Bran's two sisters once more. Arya hadn't moved a muscle. Meera felt a chill running down her spine. She recognised the look of a fellow hunter in Arya's eyes, but now Meera realised what had put her on edge. The younger Stark girl was a hunter of man, not beast.

“I can see from the fear in your eyes that you understand what I'm capable of,” Arya stated. “Few people do.” She canted her head to the other side now. “No-one has seen it this quickly before though.” The other woman seemed to think for a moment before she spoke again. “You accompanied my brother on his journey after leaving home.”

It was not really a question but Meera nodded regardless. “I did,” she confirmed. She turned aside. “Both of them, for a time.” For the first time since meeting her, Meera saw Arya's surprise override her mask of confidence. She quickly hid it though. “This is his room, isn't it?” Meera quietly asked her companion.

Arya merely nodded. “Rickon was just a small boy when I left... He'd always been so carefree and happy.” She stared at the bed of the brother who would now never be anything but a boy. “We all were. Until the King came.” Meera picked up the subtle sneer that Arya had tried to smother.

“Forgive me... Arya,” she said gently. “I did not mean to remind you of your loss.” Meera left off the honorific 'my lady' at the end of her apology. Something told Meera that she would prefer it that way.

Bran's sister smiled for some reason. “Would you like me to address you by name, too?” Meera sheepishly returned it. _So that's why she smiled._ Arya hadn't corrected her, Meera noted, so she assumed she hadn't erred by her actions.

She nodded. “If that's alright, I mean.” Meera wrung her hands nervously. “I thought you might not like it if I called you 'my lady'. Myself, I don't much care for titles. At home, courtesies are less... demanding.”

“I hate being called a Lady, too,” Arya confided conspiratorially. “My mother was a Lady. My sister _is_ a Lady. I may be high-born, and you as well, but we are not 'ladies'. Not in the sense that most mean.” She regarded Meera again. “We are fighters. Whether it's family, or friends, or honour, or duty... or others that we care for, we fight for a reason. To protect that which we love and value.” Arya moved to the bed and ran her hand gently along the foot-board absently. Before long she'd turned back to the heir to the Neck.  
“Sometimes, we have to remind ourselves of what exactly that is, Meera Reed.” She continued moving slowly yet deliberately around the room. “Sometimes our anger blinds us to the truth of why we fight. Or what we should be fighting for.” Arya Stark paused at the door before turning and meeting Meera's eye. “If you want to talk to me again, my room is the one at the far end of the corridor, beyond the Lord's Chamber. That one is Sansa's for now.” She canted her head to the side in puzzlement. “Apparently, Jon let her have it.”  
Arya shrugged and then took another glance at the bed. “I should like the chance to be a friend to you if Bran cannot be...” The young woman faltered. “I've never met anyone around my own age that was female and appreciated unladylike activities. If not friends, then at least I would prefer us to be friendly.” Something told Meera that Arya's request was breaking new ground; she was almost apprehensive.

“I would like that, Arya,” Meera replied. The other girl flashed her a quick smile and then let herself out. Meera took care of the door again and then reclined once more on the bed. She'd felt odd while Bran's sister had been present, but dismissed it as nerves. So Meera lay there waiting until her father returned and ruminated on the day's happenings.  
She'd acknowledged Ser Mylo when he'd called out from beyond the door to let her know that he'd brought the cot, telling him she'd take care of it later. He seemed to accept that and left. It felt wrong somehow to Meera that she hadn't even gotten off the bed to shout what she'd said to the knight on the other side of the wall.

After some more time had passed, probably an hour or two, there was another knock at the door. “Meera, it's me,” Lord Reed said clearly, as though there was no barrier between them. “Open the door.” She got off the bed and drew her knife. “I'm by myself.” It annoyed Meera, on occasion, just how much her father found her actions predictable. She got the door open and frowned at her sire.  
He saw it and the knife in her hand. “Good to see you followed my advice, Mim,” Howland told his daughter. Breaking into a smile, he held his arms wide, offering a hug. Her frown morphed into a small smile, and she moved to accept the embrace after putting the knife in her belt. Meera was comforted by her father's strong arms around her and buried her face in his chest. After too short a time, in Meera's opinion, he let her go.  
“Help me with this and then we'll talk?” He gestured at the cot that had been brought up and left in the hallway. Meera nodded. It didn't take long to bring in and set it up parallel to the bed. When that was done, Lord Reed barricaded the door once more. He claimed the sleeping pallet on the floor and sat himself down, indicating to his daughter that he wanted her to sit on the bed. They faced each other. Meera fretted at her sleeve and looked at the floor in front of her father's boots, waiting for him to speak. Howland regarded his last child. “I understand why you did what you did, Meera,” he said gently.

She felt guilty. “Which part, Father?” questioned Meera. She grimaced. “I've done so many things. Half of them, I don't even understand...” Howland cocked his head to the side, and she noticed a rueful smile on his face out the corner of her eye.

“So I've come to realise,” he replied. “Part of that, I think, is due to your age.” His eyes looked to a point beyond her, but Meera could see that her father's gaze was unfocused. She puzzled at his very odd answer. It was not meant to be offensive. Meera knew that. But she still found it somewhat patronising. “That offended you.” Meera was surprised. Howland gave her a wry smile, so much like his son's. “You get this particular look on your face when are offended but trying to keep your calm.”  
She exhaled loudly and her nostrils flared. “Ah,” he said, lightly chuckling. “That one is 'I'm frustrated by how easily my family can read me.' Forgive me, Meera. I'm not making mock of you.” She smiled weakly in reply. Meera knew he hadn't been, it just rankled her, her feelings being laid bare like that.  
Her father shifted uncomfortably. Silence fell for a time, as he gathered his thoughts. “Meera,” Lord Reed started hesitantly, “I am going to say some things to you in this conversation that you may not be ready right now to hear. Others you may find upsetting.” He grimaced. “Please allow me to finish explaining myself before you object. Alright?” She nodded. Howland pursed his lips.  
“First of all, I am not angry at you about Jojen,” he said softly. Meera didn't need to look in his eyes to know her father was being sincere. Her cheeks reddened. Howland took his daughter's hand in his own and she stared at it, blinking back tears. “I am angry at myself.” She looked up into his eyes incredulously. He sighed. “The burden that you've been carrying, alone, for so many years... it was unfair of me to let you shoulder so much without help.” Meera wanted to object but held her tongue, as per Lord Reed's wishes.  
“Second,” he continued, “I know that you didn't lie to me about Jojen's death. Not on purpose. You failed to give me enough information to come to an accurate conclusion, but given how distressed you were both times it was brought up, I find it a completely reasonable reaction.” Her father gently squeezed her hand. “I forgive you, Meera.” He smiled reassuringly at her. She wiped away her tears with the back of her free hand. “I know today is not the right time for you to tell me the tale of how Jojen died, in full. However, now I know it was by your hand, at some point I require you to enlighten me with the details – as uncomfortable as that will be for both of us.”

Meera nodded and silence fell temporarily. Lord Reed seemed to be in the middle of processing his thoughts or possibly forming a question. She dared not speak herself, as she knew her father was not yet finished speaking and disliked being interrupted while he was thinking. “Meera,” Howland said softly, “Jojen was your first, wasn't he?” She looked at him in puzzlement. He sighed. “Your first kill...” Meera looked at her feet and confirmed the supposition with a nod.  
“Hmm,” the Crannogman responded. “That explains a lot.” She looked up to see her father's face then. Howland Reed was once more finding it difficult to speak. “I'm sorry. I know it's worse for you than it was for me. I only had to visit the home of the man I killed but, for you, Jojen's home is your home too.” He rested his free hand on her face and gently brushed Meera's cheek with his thumb.  
“I'll not lie to you, Meera. That pain won't ever fully leave you. It may lessen a little, over time, but he was your brother.” Lord Reed moved his hand from his daughter's cheek and covered the hand he already held with it. “I have no brothers or sisters, but that doesn't mean I can't comprehend how great the love between siblings can be. Ned was the same with his brothers and sister, as you were with Jojen.” He drew back a hand to wipe the tears that had started running down his face.  
Howland closed his eyes for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths. “I was there when Ned found Lyanna,” he admitted, after opening his eyes again. Meera couldn't hide her surprise. Her father formed a small, sad smile at her reaction. “Not physically in the room, I mean. I was outside. There'd been a fight and I was checking to see if any of our companions had survived. They hadn't, only me and Ned. I was injured, but I managed to make it inside.”  
He sighed heavily. “Lyanna had died in between Ned finding her and my arrival. I had to pull him away from his sister's body. It broke Ned and something in him was never the same after that day. I loved Ned and I loved Lyanna. I would have followed either of them wherever they would have asked of me.” Meera was shocked to hear her father admit to loving another woman besides her mother. But after her anger had ebbed as quickly as it came, Meera realised that her father had only ever loved Bran's aunt as a close friend; the same love he held for Bran's father. _Like a brother,_ she realised. 

“That brings me to the third thing I wanted to discuss,” her Lord Father continued. Meera found his tone ominous. “I had hoped I was wrong, but my fears seem to have been confirmed.” Lord Reed was struggling now, apparently finding whatever it was as distressing to speak of as Meera felt listening to it with a sense of great foreboding. “When we spoke earlier, I told you that you looked heartbroken. I'd assumed it was from Jojen's death, originally. Then I thought it was because you'd taken advantage of...”  
She found herself grimacing in distaste at the reminder. Her father winced at her look. “But I know now what the reason was behind what I saw.” Meera gave her sire a puzzled look. Why was he being so vague? And what did he mean by 'the reason'? What was he so afraid of saying to her? Howland Reed searched his daughter's face. “You have no idea what I'm talking about do you, Meera?” he said, shocked at the realisation. “Gods! Of course, you don't...” Her father looked worried now, but also somewhat sympathetic. “Forgive me, my girl. I know this will be a shock to you.” He bit his lip. “You love Brandon Stark. As more than a friend...” 

Meera reflexively denied it. “No, he's just a friend,” she insisted. Rising from the bed, Meera went to the window. She couldn't cope with being touched anymore. “I swear to you, Father.” Looking back at him, she saw her father's disappointed expression and knew he didn't believe her. _Why doesn't he believe me?_ Meera found herself thinking, trying to see what her father saw that had led him to his inaccurate conclusion.  
The longer she thought about it, the more Meera found the evidence mounting in support of what he'd said. A feeling of terror grew inside her. When had this happened? How had she not noticed? Her hands flew to cover her mouth and she met her father's gaze with wide eyes. Howland got up from his cot and came over to her. He held out his arms to Meera and, after taking her hands from her mouth, she all but launched herself into them. Burying her face against her father's chest, Meera sobbed her pain out. “Oh gods!” she exclaimed. “I... I... I don't understand, Father.” 

“Hush,” Lord Reed replied, as he patted her back in the embrace. “This is a shock, I know. And I know you don't understand it, either.” She felt him take a few breaths before speaking again. “Matters of the heart are... complicated. Honestly, I don't understand what attracted you to him. He was cold to you before.”

Meera pulled back and hastily rubbed at her eyes. “He wasn't always this way,” she lamented. “Bran was a kind, thoughtful, considerate boy. Then Jojen died, and I pushed Bran away in my grief. We were just beginning to reconcile before the White Walkers attacked us. It was only the two of us that escaped.” _No thanks to you,_ a small voice accused. Meera ignored it.  
“I dragged him for miles and miles across the frozen north on a sledge, while his mind was trapped in a vision. In the end, I couldn't pull him any further. The wights were closing in, and a voice in the back of my head screamed at me to run; to leave Bran behind. But I couldn't. Something kept me there... and now I know what it was, I wish I didn't. The Bran I loved died beyond the Wall. His body lives but his soul is gone, subsumed by the Three-Eyed Raven. Everyone died but me... and for what?”

“I don't know, Meera,” her father said sadly. “I wish I did... I wish there was something I could say to make it better. To lessen your fears or to soothe you in your doubts. To ease your troubled mind. But I can't, and I would be lying if I said anyone can. I doubt even Lord Brandon could articulate something of comfort to you at the moment." Howland let his daughter pull away entirely now, but maintained a gentle grip on one of her hands. A smile underlined with pain graced his face.  
“Meera...” he said hesitantly when he finally spoke. “It was wrong of me to judge how you feel about Ned's boy. We don't choose who we fall in love with.” Lord Reed pulled back his hand from her and grimaced. “But we can control what we do about it.” He turned aside. “Years ago, I'd hoped to join our house to Ned's by a marriage between our children.” Meera gasped.  
Her Father looked back at her quickly. “Not you, necessarily... Robb would not have been available, and the other two were so much younger than you.” His melancholy was growing and now hanging like a cloud over his head. “No, the most solid plan I had come up with was asking Ned to marry Jojen to Arya. But, alas, Jojen came to me and told me that he hadn't seen that in his future.” 

“Did he tell you, Father?” Meera accused. For his part, Lord Reed just looked confused. She scoffed at that. “He didn't, did he?” She found herself shaking her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable!” Her father simply stared at her dumbly, his eyes begging for an explanation. Meera sighed. “You know what I was told not half an hour after killing my brother?” Howland shook his head. “I was told that Jojen had known he was going to die... _before he'd even left home_.”  
She found herself choking out the next part. “And my brother never told me. Never! And now I'm left wondering why he never said anything, to anyone. I find myself asking, 'Did he know that I was going to be the one to end his life?'. Or, 'How much did the Raven actually tell Jojen about his death?'.” Meera swallowed, finding she had a dry lump in her throat. “But, most of all, I find myself thinking, 'How could he have kept something like that from me?'. Then I feel guilty; for being selfish, or overbearing, I don't know. But it hurts. Because it leaves me feeling like Jojen didn't trust me.” She threw up her arms in frustration. “Even though I know he _did_ trust me and that wasn't why he did it. Everything that's happened... it's just all so gods-damned confusing.” Meera eyed her father. “Please tell me I'm not going mad, Father,” she begged.

Howland Reed sighed but didn't move from where he was standing. “You aren't going mad, Meera,” he confirmed. Even hearing his sincerity, she still couldn't bring herself to fully believe what her father was saying. “I know you can't fully accept that fact, either.” He squinted at a point on the wall beyond her. “You know it in your head, but your heart is much slower to realise, and isn't quite there yet.” Now he frowned. “You are so much like your mother, in that regard.”  
When Lord Reed did not provide any elaboration on that statement, his daughter merely waited patiently for him to continue. “Come sit down again?” he asked gently. Meera's father had been mulling something over it seemed, and now he wanted to speak with her about it. She took up her seat at the edge of the bed again, and Howland sat on the cot. He massaged his forehead with his fingers briefly, sighing as he did. When Lord Reed took his hand away, he looked to his daughter with an expression she couldn't quite discern behind the furrow of his brow.  
“Meera...” her Lord Father started cautiously, not yet meeting her gaze. She tilted her head and frowned at him. Something about his tone set her on edge, even though the rest of his demeanour was open. “I'd like to ask you a question.” Howland Reed looked up and found his daughter's eyes. The creases on his forehead deepened. “You do not have to answer it, if you don't want to,” he assured her.  
Meera nodded permission for him to go on. Her father chewed on his lip for a moment, then asked her what he wanted to. “Hypothetically speaking, if Lord Brandon was still the way he was... before, and he was amenable to it, would you have wanted me to pursue a marriage suit between the pair of you?”

She was taken aback. That hadn't been what she was expecting. Although, if Meera were truly honest with herself, she hadn't really known what to expect... But it was definitely _not_ that. Now she found herself thinking on it long and hard. Meera shifted uncomfortably where she sat, while her father fidgeted nervously in the awkward silence hanging between them. She couldn't hide her feelings when she answered. “Yes, Father,” Meera said tearfully.

Lord Reed's face fell upon hearing the distress in his daughter's reply. He held out his arms to Meera. “Come here, my girl,” Howland offered. She threw herself into his arms, welcoming the warmth of the embrace. Meera sobbed out her frustrations against her father's chest as he, in turn, rubbed her back soothingly and cradled her head. “I'm sorry for asking, only I needed to be sure.”  
He faltered for a few seconds before he went on. “I cannot in good conscience entertain any proposals of marriage for you at this time, Meera.” She looked up at him in confusion. Howland brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. Sadly, he answered her unspoken question. “It would not be fair to you, my girl. Nor would it be to your potential betrothed.” Lord Reed sighed heavily. “You need time. Time to process what has happened to you. Time to grieve for your brother and your... other losses. Most importantly, though, I believe the question of whether Lord Brandon's coolness towards people is permanent or not, needs to be addressed.”

Meera was surprised. “You would allow me to marry a man who cannot give me heirs, Father?” she said in amazement.

Lord Reed looked thoughtful for a time. “I would see you happy, Meera,” he replied with utmost sincerity. “After everything that's happened to you, I think you deserve that.” Her father sighed. “It would be sad that my line would die out. But House Reed would not. I have younger cousins who would inherit from you, should you have no heir of your own.”

Intellectually, Meera knew this to be the case. However, she'd expected her father to be more upset about it, for some reason. “Truly, Father?” she asked. “You would allow me to marry for love and not duty? Or remain unwed, if I so chose?” Howland smiled at his daughter as he nodded in reply. Meera hugged him tighter, in return. “Thank you, Father!” she choked out through her tears – this time though they were tears of happiness and relief, not sorrow. “I love you, so much,” Meera added, in a whisper.

“I know, Mim,” her father said softly back. “As I do you.” He released her from the hug. “We need to freshen up. Lady Sansa has invited us to sit at the High Table with her tonight.” Howland chuckled as his daughter drew back from him. “Be glad we don't need to wear furs to supper. I don't think the rest of the Northmen would take us seriously in a coat of mismatched squirrel and rabbit.”  
Meera found herself smiling in spite of herself, recalling that on her first entrance to Winterfell that had indeed been precisely what she'd been wearing. Mayhaps that was why she'd been given much coarser chambers then. Still, Meera had not objected. It had been the finest room she'd stayed in since leaving home. Well, comparable to Castle Black, anyway. Meera rated Winterfell higher though because here she wasn't constantly in fear of someone bursting into her room and forcibly having their way with her. She shook that notion away, annoyed that her thinking had come around to that again.

Another thought struck Meera. The wild clothes she'd worn on her last visit had probably marked her for a commoner in Sansa Stark's mind, hence why she hadn't recognised Meera upon her return. It didn't bother her, truly; she was not one to make a fuss and had been overwhelmed with emotion at the time. After witnessing Bran's reunion with his sister, Meera had been thankful for the solitude.  
A small part of her felt guilty at the fact she'd experienced a twinge of jealousy towards the siblings. Meera was sad too. It had reminded her of the painful hole in her chest she felt whenever she thought on Jojen. She had also been angry with Bran. He'd been so cold to Sansa that day, just as he'd been with her the day she had left. Meera would have given anything to have that chance with her own brother and to see Bran squander that had made her see red. She'd been relieved to be away from him afterwards, but that had only fuelled her guilt.  
Meera forced herself to focus on the present and replied to her father's statement. “I am thankful of that fact, Father,” she said. “I suspect that's why Lady Sansa failed to realise that I'd been here before.” Meera smiled weakly. “One could say I was keeping a low profile...” Lord Reed snorted in laughter at his daughter's joke. The Crannogmen were known for being shorter on average than most Westerosi and, in their case, they both knew it applied to themselves.  
Her thoughts went to Jojen. He'd been tall for one of their people, but Meera suspected that Bran and his eldest sister would both be taller than him, had he still lived. Bran would likely tower over them all. She sighed and made an effort to clear her head. “Please tell me I'm not expected to wear a dress, Father?” pleaded Meera.

He stifled another laugh. “As if you even packed one,” Howland scoffed. Meera stared at the ground between them and said nothing. “You did?” he said, audibly surprised.

She looked up at him and nodded. Meera couldn't lie to her father, not on purpose. “I knew it would be expected of me.” She fretted at a sleeve of her tunic. “There's a small issue, though.” Lord Reed raised an eyebrow at his offspring. “I haven't worn any in years... I have no idea if any of them still fit properly,” Meera blurted out.

“Ahh,” her father said knowingly. “In that case, excuses will have to be made this evening.” He looked at her slyly. “We will, however, find you someone on the morrow to fix up your dress. It's been too long since I've seen you in clothes that weren't designed for hunting in.” Meera rolled her eyes and Howland laughed in return. “You won't be the only one dressing up, Mim. Your mother made me bring my best clothes for the occasion.”

Meera smiled at that. “Of course Mother did,” she muttered, shaking her head as she did.

Lord Reed leant toward his daughter and whispered conspiratorially. “You want to know something?” he asked with a smirk. “Just in case, I brought my second-best set of clothes. If they fit you, then you can have them... if not, then we may have a problem for dinner this evening.”

She squealed in delight and launched herself into her sire's arms again to embrace him tightly. “You're the best, Father!” Meera enthused.

Howland chuckled and gave her a small smirk. “I know...” he teased. She shook her head, smiling as she did so, and playfully pushed him in the chest. Lord Reed's mood sobered quickly. “Seriously though, Meera; I have always tried to do right by my family, even if it doesn't always seem that way. Even when I get things wrong.” He had sad eyes now, that implored her for forgiveness. Meera dived into hugging him again, to let him know that things were alright between them.  
Patting her on the back in the hug, her Lord Father thanked her. “You are truly a gift, my girl,” he continued. “The gods really blessed me when they gave me my children.” Meera felt her face flush and mumbled her gratitude at the sentiment, desperately trying to keep her mind off of Jojen. They were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. They pulled away from each other. “Ah,” Howland stated, “that should be our things now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is "At The High Table", followed by "The Three-Eyed Raven" where there's finally a PoV that isn't Meera. :P
> 
> Apologies, but Chapter 5 is currently undergoing a major re-write. I'm worried I may have spoiled you all by putting out four chapters in three days, as the next two aren't likely to be done for another week or so, at least.


	5. At The High Table [Meera]

As Meera went through her trunk, she found that her suspicions had been correct. None of the dresses still fit her. She frowned and put her riding clothes back on. Meera stepped out from behind the privacy screen she'd been using to change. Her father was waiting and looked at her expectantly. She shook her head. The Crannogman went to his own chest and got out his second-best set of clothes for her. Meera ducked behind the screen and tried it on. It embarrassed her a little, having to borrow clothes from her father.  
Meera tried the doublet on. It was a bit loose across her shoulders but, after tying it up in the front, Meera found that the looseness was confined to her back. Next, she slid the jerkin over her head and down her torso. It fit a bit more snugly than the doublet, but it still needed to be laced. When Meera came to the lower half, however, she encountered a problem. “Father,” she called out. “I'm too big for your britches.” Lord Reed started to laugh. “I'm not joking. My backside is too big and the wrong shape for them.”

Her Lord Father stifled his laughter. “You'll just have to wear your own nicest pair of britches instead, then,” he said in all seriousness. Meera sighed at the inconvenience of having to dress up. She went back to her trunk to dig out some good britches that actually matched the rest of the outfit. After a short time looking, Meera finally found something suitable. The fine woollen trousers were dyed a similar hue of green to the jerkin and several shades lighter than the silken doublet.  
She put her boots on after the britches and emerged to present herself to her father. Lord Reed smiled broadly. “I dare say, it looks better on you than it ever did on me, my girl,” he informed her. “If your mother was here, I doubt she would disagree.” Meera felt herself go red in the face and mumbled her thanks. “Come here, Mim. Let me tie up your laces.” She did as her father asked and came over to him. Raising her arms up, she allowed her father to tighten the laces under her armpits.

Meera found herself looking at the embroidery on the sleeves. Lizard-lions had been stitched into the fabric, she saw, in a shade of grey-green slightly darker than the silk it was sewn on. “Did Mother make this?” Meera asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Aye, she did,” her father replied, as he moved to do her up on the other side. “The jerkin, too.” Lord Reed sighed, as he finished tying his daughter's laces. “Jyana needed a project to distract herself after you and Jojen went north on your journey.” Meera lowered her arms and turned to her sire. The Crannogman pointed to his own outfit. “When she was done with the one you're wearing, Jyana made me this one.” He chuckled a little. “I prefer this one, as it only requires one person to put it on. As you can see.” He'd stopped laughing now but his smile was still wide. Meera found it infectious, as she couldn't help but return it.

They left the room together and made their way down to the Great Hall. Meera found it more than passing strange the sensation of being unarmed. Without her dagger at her hip, she nearly felt naked. Meera knew she was among friends and thus didn't need it, but she missed the reassuring weight of it at her side nonetheless. She found herself wondering if she would run into Bran at dinner or not. Probably not, Meera figured.  
The girl from the swamps thought next about her predicament. What was she to do now, given that she found herself in love with her closest living friend and he was not himself anymore? Had Bran cared for her in a similar way? Meera was upset by the fact that she may never know now. Their reunion had brought far more questions than answers, on her side at least. Her father had cautioned patience, but Meera knew not how much of it she had left.

She distracted herself by admiring her mother's needlework. The embroidered lizard-lions had amazingly intricate detailing, right down to little ridges and scales on the hides, as well as tiny glassy eyes. Around them were reeds, moss and other miscellaneous vegetable matter common to the Neck. Jyana Reed had put exquisite detail into the flora as well, to the point that her daughter could clearly identify the plants that they'd been patterned on. It fascinated Meera how well the lizard-lions were camouflaged on the doublet's sleeves among the plants.  
The jerkin she wore was dyed grey-green like the field of House Reed's banner and, in the centre, the black lizard-lion of their sigil was proudly sewn on it in silk. Her Lady Mother had outdone herself with it, Meera decided. Every feature was highly detailed like the doublet's sleeves, but Lady Jyana had incorporated beads for her work on the frontispiece as well. The eyes were Meera's favourite part. There her mother had used translucent glass and ebony beads to create a life-like replica.  
Her father wore a tunic with quilted silk sleeves and a dyed green lamb-skin body. Over it, he wore a silken tabard which closely resembled the jerkin Meera wore. The only difference was the edging had been done in a similar fashion to the sleeves of her doublet, and thus looked like lizard-lions were crawling towards Lord Reed's shoulders. He held it in place with a narrow belt made of the hide of a lizard-lion he'd killed after it had wandered too close to Greywater Watch.  
The final piece of the ensemble was his britches, which were surprisingly similar to the sleeves of Meera's doublet. The only difference being the woven woollen leggings having the silken patches of embroidery stitched over the top of them. Meera had no skill with a needle, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the work of someone who did – and her mother's pieces were exquisite, in her humble opinion. _If I see her again, I must tell Mother that,_ she thought.

The Reeds arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall and were ushered to the High Table. Meera was sat next to Arya at one end of the table. On Arya's other side was a gap likely intended for Bran. Beyond it sat Bran's other sister, Lady Sansa. The next chair beyond Sansa was where Meera's Lord Father was seated. Next to him on the other side sat the little she-bear herself, Lyanna Mormont. Yohn Royce had to content himself with being on the end of the table like Meera was.  
She thought it an interesting pair to seat together for a meal, and she amused herself thinking of topics they might discuss. Meera came up empty but resolved to ask her father after dinner about the discussions at the other end of the table. From what Meera had observed, Lyanna Mormont never wore any expression other than a scowl. She wondered what the other girl would look like with a smile. The Crannogwoman found she couldn't picture it. “Does Lady Mormont ever smile, Arya?” Meera said to her companion at the table, curiosity getting the better of her.

Arya looked over at the little she-bear and gave a little laugh. “Probably,” she answered. “Once or twice. I've yet to see it, though.” Bran's sister turned back to her and smiled. Meera thought it genuine, as it didn't make her feel like prey. “I suppose, like me, she has a reputation to uphold.” Arya's face morphed into a conspiratorial smirk. “Get her behind closed doors, and we might be able to get her to crack a smile. Maybe.” The young woman from the Neck saw in that moment what Bran had meant so long ago when he'd said that his sister's playful mischievousness had often gotten her in trouble.

“As long as it isn't tonight, I might be up for seeing that,” Meera said cautiously. “I'm pretty tired after the long ride we had.” It wasn't exactly a lie; Meera was exhausted, and not only from the ride. Her hesitation came from not knowing if it was a good idea to encourage the younger of Bran's two sisters in such an endeavour, especially when Meera had no idea what she actually had in mind. Arya nodded absently, as she distractedly looked to the vacant seat beside her.  
Meera found herself wondering if she should be concerned by the fact that his sister seemed to be worrying about Bran not having come to dinner yet. “Is that seat for Bran?” she said, fishing for confirmation. The wolf maid nodded again. “Has he been coming to dinner of late? Because last time I was here, he never took any meals outside his room.”

“No, he still doesn't take his meals in the hall,” Arya admitted. “But I thought tonight may have been different.” She shook her head. “Never mind, I'll look for Bran after the meal. He can be quite vexing if he doesn't want to be found.” Meera snorted and found herself nodding in agreement. “He's done that to you too, hey?”

“More often it was to my brother,” she replied. “I found it frustrating sometimes, but Jojen always took Bran's moods in his stride.” Meera found herself smiling sadly at the memory. “I miss him.” She couldn't say that she missed Bran as well as Jojen, not to Arya – Meera had no idea how the other young woman would take it. Probably, Bran's sister would take her for some love-addled sap. _Maybe she wouldn't be far wrong either,_ the heir to the Neck thought. _But I don't want Arya to think I'm just another silly little girl, at heart._

“As I miss my brothers, too,” Arya said, more subdued than Meera had ever seen her before. She shook her head after a few moments of silent brooding. “Would you tell me what happened to Rickon? Why he parted from you?” Meera bit her lip, wondering if this was some kind of test. Arya must have sensed her reluctance because she had softened her tone considerably when she spoke next. “I only ask because Bran never speaks of what happened after we left home. He barely speaks at all, truth be told.”

Meera nodded. She'd suspected as much. It was, the Crannogwoman hoped, Bran using the same method of coping as she herself was. Meera couldn't afford to dwell on the possibility that he just didn't care any longer. Forcing herself to think of something other than her current and past issues with Bran was hard. However, Meera chose to distract herself this time by giving Arya the information she wanted to know.  
Starting from when she and Jojen had come across the Stark boys and their party in the forest, Meera told Bran's sister the tale of their journey up until Rickon and Osha had left them. Arya listened patiently and without judgement, asking questions every so often either out of curiosity or to seek clarification of a point. Meera found it surprisingly easy to talk about that part of her journey. When she'd finished, Arya thanked her.

After the food had been served, Meera felt emboldened and asked her new friend about her own journey away from home. Arya had an odd look come over her face and didn't answer. Meera feared she'd asked the wrong question and started to apologise. The wild Stark girl waved it away and, after a brief interlude of awkward silence, she began to tell Meera her own tale.  
It started out bright and full of hope, until the day Joffrey Baratheon had come across Arya and her peasant friend playing at sword-fighting. Her description of the prince was quite florid, to the point that Meera suspected 'cunt' may have been Arya's favourite adjective. To be fair, the way Bran's sister described him, he was a bully and a terrible excuse of a person.  
Arya told Meera the way Joffrey had drawn his steel against her friend, Mycah, who was unarmed after dropping his stick and demanded they fight, stick versus sword. The boy had complained that he had no sword, so the queen's son had put his sword against the butcher boy's face. When blood was drawn on the commoner's cheek, Arya had struck the prince across the back and her friend had fled in terror. Joffrey had then set his sight on Lord Stark's younger daughter, swinging at her wildly and threatening to gut her.  
To Meera, it almost seemed like Arya was ashamed at how bad her fighting skills had been back then. Bran's sister then told the girl from the swamps how her direwolf, Nymeria, had come to her rescue by savaging her bully's sword arm. Arya seemed to take great pleasure in recounting how he'd dropped his sword, as well as how she'd picked it up and held it on him, while he cried like a baby and begged for mercy. Her mood soured as she finished though. The wild she-wolf told the Crannogwoman that Sansa had pleaded with her to leave the prince alone. Meera could tell Arya regretted not running Joffrey through when she finished, saying her sister's words had moved her and she'd chosen to throw the prince's steel into the river instead of hurting him.

Meera asked what had happened then. Arya's expression of distaste became a scowl. “I ran off and hid with Nymeria,” she admitted. “Fleeing seemed like the only option at the time, and Sansa had been standing there the whole time, telling everyone off.” Bran's sister sighed. “I was angry with her. For a long time.” Meera felt there was more to tell, so she pressed Arya further. Reluctantly, the Stark girl continued. It was a sad end, Meera found, and one that justified the hesitation on Arya's side.  
The heir to the Neck was told about how Arya's friend had been ridden down and killed on the queen's orders by a Lannister retainer. How she'd been forced to drive her direwolf off with rocks so Nymeria wouldn't follow her and be killed for attacking the prince. Then Meera heard about Arya being taken by Lannister guards and being brought before the old fat king. Lord Stark had been furious when he'd been reunited with his daughter.  
Arya said that Sansa had been brought before King Robert and made to give her version of events too. She sounded angry and, when Meera found out Sansa had refused to back up what Arya had said, the heir to Greywater Watch could understand why. Bran's sister told Meera that the vindictive Queen Cersei had demanded the king kill a direwolf, in front of a large number of soldiers so he would be forced to grant her wish. She softened her tone as she related how driving off Nymeria had led to the queen demanding Sansa's direwolf die instead.

After that, Arya had spoken of the rest of the journey to King's Landing and of the tension between the two sisters that had remained nearly the whole time until they were separated. She told Meera of her dancing master, Syrio, and of the Braavosian Water Dance he'd taught her. They shared a hearty laugh when Arya informed her new friend that it was actually a sword-fighting style native to the Free City of Braavos and not actually what most Westerosi would consider a dance.  
The pair talked for a long time, as Bran never showed up to eat with them. Several times, Meera found herself having to refuse more ale or wine. It would not serve anyone – least of all herself – if she got drunk. The wine she turned down on principle; Meera could never stand the taste. The ale, on the other hand, she declined to indulge in because she wanted a clear mind. Or perhaps Meera just didn't feel safe enough to not remain vigilant in such a crowd of people. She didn't know for certain. _Maybe you don't deserve to relax or be happy,_ the annoying little voice sniped at her at one point. For not the first time, Meera wished it would be quiet.  
They talked of their brothers extensively and of their parents, as well. Meera spoke of her home and Arya mentioned that both times she'd travelled the Causeway, the Neck had fascinated her. That pleased Meera and she extended an invitation to the Stark girl to visit Greywater Watch when all the fighting was done. She told herself to remember to tell her father so that, in case she didn't make it through, Lord Reed would know Meera had wanted Arya Stark to see their home.  
Those seated in the hall began to finish up their meals and started to trickle out, singly or in pairs, sometimes more. Meera observed that the men on the lower tables who remained were mostly engaged in drinking contests or passed out already. She also noted that a lot of them were Crannogmen. Looking across to her father, Meera tried to get an idea of whether or not he'd seen them. Meeting Lord Reed's eye, his daughter cocked an eyebrow and then indicated towards their men with a small movement of her head. Her father looked a little amused and shook his head. Apparently, he was allowing this behaviour for now.  
Lady Mormont had excused herself from the table by then, citing a need to take care of some duty or another. Meera suspected that was Mormont-speak for being tired but dared not voice that opinion aloud. She couldn't blame the girl, not when she was exhausted herself. Catching her father's eye again, Meera made a small gesture beckoning him over to join her and found herself covering up a yawn with the other hand.

The Lord of the Neck made his excuses to Lord Royce, with whom he was speaking, as well as Lady Sansa and came over to talk with his daughter. “What's the matter, Mim?” he asked. Meera noted that her father had been drinking and was, therefore, a little more relaxed than usual. That certainly explained his laxity on the drinking being done by their men.

“Is it wise to let our bannermen drink so much tonight, Father?” she asked him with all sincerity. Meera genuinely wanted to know why he was allowing it. “Surely they'll be useless in the morning or at least until they sober up...”

Lord Reed laughed. “Tonight they may drink their fill, my girl,” he told her. “I've allowed them leave just this once, as a celebration. They have been told, in no uncertain terms, that should any of them misbehave there will be dire consequences.” Meera didn't hide her displeasure and her father took notice. His face became serious. “Look around you, Meera,” the Crannogman said to his daughter. She indulged him and looked at the lower tables again.  
Howland Reed lowered his voice and sat at the table in the place reserved for Bran so they could speak a little more privately. Arya swapped chairs with Meera to facilitate that as well. “All our men here,” he spoke intently, his eyes drilling into his daughter's. “How many of them do you think will see home again? Nine in ten? One in ten? One in a hundred?” She frowned, not understanding what her Lord Father was ultimately trying to tell her.

Feeling small and worried she'd disappointed him, the lord's daughter bowed her head. “I don't know,” Meera confessed. “A lot, I suppose. Maybe all of us...” She bit her lip. “What has that got to do with letting them get drunk tonight? Won't it cause trouble?”

“I see I must teach you this lesson plainly,” Lord Reed told her. She thought he sounded frustrated but couldn't be certain. “Unfortunately, time is short and I cannot wait for you to grasp this point on your own.” He sighed. “Meera, when men normally go to war they do so in the knowledge that they may die. We don't like to let our women or our children anywhere near them, because we fear for their safety.” The girl from the Neck didn't like where this was going but she held her tongue. Arya Stark, on the other hand, glared openly at Lord Reed.  
“Be upset about it all you like,” he told them both pointedly. “It is not a matter of thinking you are incapable of fighting. Far from it. I have seen women fight until their dying breath for that which they love.” Lord Reed paused and Meera realised he was trying to put his point across in the least offensive way. “You remember what I said to you earlier today, my girl? About taking lives?” His daughter nodded, hating to be reminded, however tangentially, of what she'd done.  
“Our desire to keep you from harm is why we gladly take the burden of fighting. It's so that you don't _have_ to fight, not so you can't. We want to protect you; from the guilt and the weight on your soul at ending another life.” He sighed. “None of that matters now, though. We could all die in the coming war. Men. Women. Children. You've told me you've seen it for yourself, Meera; the Night King doesn't discriminate. Dead is dead.”  
The Crannogman gathered himself. “We are the vanguard against the army of the dead.” He looked forlorn and Meera hoped her father was coming to his point. “All of us may be wights next moon's turn. I have given our men a brief respite from that bleak future. A hope that life will go on, if you will. When you become Lady of the Neck, you must know when to loosen some restrictions so that morale doesn't suffer.”

Lord Reed shook his head. “Do not mistake what I've done, Meera,” he said sternly. “I am not, nor will I ever, encourage debauchery. Any man found guilty of a serious crime during this time will be executed. Rapers, murderers; all that ilk... I will not suffer them. I made this abundantly clear to all our fighters, not just the men. Any of them found still drunk after sundown tomorrow will be guests in the dungeons until they sober up, after which they will serve three hours of extra patrol duty on the castle walls for every hour they take to sober up.”  
Meera's father looked pensive, so she said nothing and waited for him to finish. “Sometimes a thing like this is exactly what people need to unwind. Usually, a feast or a wedding is best, but a night like this will serve just as well if there's no other option.” Lord Reed rested his hand on his daughter's cheek. “A little bit of chaos from time to time can help keep order in the long run.” He smiled at Meera. “You just need to recognise when your men need an outlet for their frustration, so discipline doesn't suffer and they run out of control instead. If you don't take care of their needs, your people will hate you for it.”

Meera leant back in her chair with folded arms, after her father had taken his hand away from her face. “I... I need time to think on your words, Father.” Lord Reed tilted his head and gave her a wry smile, then nodded his acceptance. Her father knew her well enough to recognise her unreadiness to agree with him yet, but also that she was willing to ponder them further on her own. Meera frowned as she broached a new topic. “Do you think it would be possible to leave the hall now and retire for the evening, my lord?” she asked her father. Her voice was timid even though the heir to the Neck had raised it to be heard by the whole table. Here, in front of everyone, it would not serve Meera to forget her courtesies.

 

“That is a question for Lady Sansa, my girl,” he said back to her at the same volume. “However, I have no objections to taking our leave, should she permit it.” Lord Reed grimaced and lowered his voice. He leaned in so that only Meera could hear him. “I had wanted to discuss some things further with Lord Royce. But it can wait until morning, I suppose. You look like you could do with some sleep, Mim.” Meera looked at the table. Resting a finger under her chin, the Lord of the Neck gently raised his daughter's head so that her eyes were drawn back to his. “I realise today has been hard for you and you look thoroughly exhausted by it, was all I meant. It was not intended to be a slight against you, Meera.”

“I did not take it as such, Father,” she replied. Meera decided to confess something. “To be honest, I was wondering how well I would sleep tonight. Today has presented me with a great deal of things to ruminate on.”

The Crannogman nodded to his daughter. “Fair enough,” he said in return. “Forgive me for my presumption, my girl.” Meera nodded back contritely, and that seemed to be the end of the matter. Lord Reed pulled back from her and turned to Sansa Stark but not before flashing his last child a grin. It disturbed Meera sometimes just how much her father reminded her of Jojen in his mannerisms. Howland Reed's smile had been exactly like the one his son often wore. She mentally shrugged it off, not wanting to dwell on it.  
“My lady,” Lord Reed addressed the lady of the castle. “Would it be possible to get your permission to leave the table and retire for the evening? We are requiring rest after our long journey, my daughter especially.” Sansa Stark looked thoughtful for the few moments before she answered and Meera suspected a lot more went on in the other woman's mind than she ever let on. _Possibly the only trait she seems to share with her sister,_ Meera noted. It astounded her, just how much two girls born of the same mother and father could be so dissimilar.

Lady Sansa arched an eyebrow as she spoke. “Do you truly wish to return to your room, Lord Reed?” Meera sat up and paid attention at Bran's eldest sister's words. Something about the way she said them demanded attention be paid to her. “You appeared to be quite enjoying your time with Lord Royce, after Lady Mormont left the table.” Sansa tilted her head and nodded towards the Crannogman's daughter. “I find it more likely that it is only Lady Meera who wishes to leave, and you feel obligated to escort her.”  
_Gods!_ Meera thought. _She is so astute._ Like her sister but attuned to a different set of cues. The young woman of the Neck was glad that the Stark sisters were allies of theirs and not enemies. Meera shuddered to think of what they could do to anyone who opposed them, if they stood together. She could not see her father's face, but she knew from how the set of his shoulders subtly changed that her Lord Father had taken notice of how dangerous Sansa Stark could be too.  
Meera was struck with a thought, a memory of something said earlier in the day. _Lord Manderly told us that there were rumours of Sansa having violently dispatched those who opposed her, possibly by her own hand..._ An ice-cold sensation ran its way up the Crannogwoman's spine. Meera had difficulty marrying the idea of Bran's sisters as he'd described them as girls and what she now observed of them now as young women. _I am not the only woman in this hall who is damaged,_ she concluded. The realisation came as quite a shock. Meera would have to tread carefully around all the Starks.

“You have the right of it, my lady,” the Lord of the Neck replied easily. “I am a little tired, but I fear my daughter is rather more so.” He cleared his throat. “If it were just me, I would stay here in Winterfell's Great Hall and let Lord Royce talk my ear off until he or I grew weary of it. But I am not just a lord; I am a father, as well. My obligation is to do right by my daughter, and I have sworn to make her feel safe if it's at all in my power. As such, I am duty-bound to provide her with an escort her to our room.” Lord Reed swallowed. He looked back at Meera briefly and smiled before he turned back to Sansa to finish. “I fear I am the only man she trusts enough to dispense that duty.”

The Lady of Winterfell once again looked thoughtful. She rubbed the point of her chin between forefinger and thumb. “Hmm. The only man, you say...” Sansa echoed. The sisters met each other's eyes. It was almost as if they agreed on what to do without any visible sign of communication. “What of women, my lord?”

Meera caught on quickly and cut in before Lord Howland could say anything. “If you truly wish to stay here, Father, I'm sure Lady Sansa wouldn't object to Arya accompanying me to my room when I leave.” She glanced at Arya to confirm she hadn't overstepped her bounds. “If she is alright with that, I mean.” The heir to Greywater Watch worried that she'd alienate her new friend with her presumption, but Bran's second sister nodded agreeably. Before turning back to her host, Meera smiled at her gratefully.

“It is settled then, my lord,” Sansa told him. “If you want to remain and finish conversing with Lord Royce, my sister and I will accompany your daughter to your lodgings.” Meera hadn't been anticipating the lady of the keep to offer to come with her too, and she felt immensely honoured by the gesture.

Her Lord Father appeared to agree as well. Howland turned to Meera. “If you are truly alright with it, my girl, I would like to remain for a while,” he stated. Lord Reed looked somewhat melancholy and more than a little guilty. She prayed that it was not on account of her.

Meera gave him a broad smile in reply. “Stay, Father,” she told him, resting a hand on his forearm. “It will do you good.” The Crannogwoman patted her sire's arm. “The Starks will not let any further harm come to me,” Meera assured him, with a confidence that she didn't really feel. _Not tonight, at least._ That she dared not say aloud, so as to neither offend the sisters nor cause Lord Reed concern. Meera was loath to burden her father anymore.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm choosing to make this the end of the chapter. I can't figure out a better place to break it without making it so bloated as to be unwieldy. Depending on how much more I end up writing about how Arya, Sansa and Meera entertain themselves before Howland joins them upstairs, I may have to make this into a two-parter. (Teaser: Sansa heard her sister telling Meera about what happened with Joffrey, and decides to give Arya a piece of her mind, behind closed doors.)
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think.


	6. After The Meal; or, A Night With The Stark Sisters [Meera]

The three young women stood up from their chairs. Sansa Stark dispensed her duties as the Lady presiding over dinner, informing those still present that the meal was over but also giving them leave to remain in the hall until they had finished taking their fill. Meera spied Ser Mylo Manderly on guard duty at the door as they passed, and she gave him a polite nod and a small smile in return to his broad one.  
When Sansa stopped before the knight to give him instructions, Meera found herself having to turn her head away as a heat began to rise in her cheeks. Whether it was from his earlier kindnesses that the Crannogwoman had not deserved, or due to the warmth of his expression as he directed it towards her now, she couldn't say. It shamed the future Lady of the Neck that she couldn't identify the exact nature of her embarrassment.  
A horrible thought struck her. _Surely he cannot be interested in me,_ Meera wondered with a growing terror. _He knows now how damaged I am... Father told him!_ No, Ser Mylo must merely be pitying her for what she'd done and had done to her. That had to have been the reason the White Harbor knight smiled at Meera. Any other possibility was far too foreign for her to consider. The Manderly man had certainly not looked at her with any sort of desire of the kind she feared from a man; that she could discern, at least.  
_Yes, that must be it,_ Meera decided. _I'm embarrassed because now he sees me truly, Ser Mylo sees me for the pathetic shell of a creature I am._ The girl had no need of the nagging little voice to tell her that this time and, mercifully, it remained as silent as she. His attention was not a threat to Meera, not anymore, of that she was certain. Pity would kill any desire in a man for a woman... Was that why Bran had spurned her? Could he no longer see Meera as a woman – if he ever had – because of what she'd done in his service?

The Crannogman's daughter shook the thoughts off. There would be plenty of time later in the night for her to wrestle them when she was not in company. “Good night and sleep well, my ladies,” the man in the merman surcoat bid them before they'd moved off. Arya turned to glare at him. “You as well... Arya,” Ser Mylo added awkwardly. Ned Stark's second daughter canted her head to the knight in acknowledgement, seemingly revelling in the discomfiture she was causing the man. Then she nodded curtly at him, and the trio of lord's daughters set off to the upper levels of the keep where their rooms were.

Meera had noted that Sansa had not appreciated her sister's behaviour with the White Harbor knight, nor could the young woman from the swamps rule out the elder Stark sister having overheard Arya telling her story to her at the meal table. The Crannogwoman had caught the Lady of Winterfell looking slightly annoyed and like she'd wanted to say something, but had instead held her tongue. Now, though, Sansa's lordly mask seemed to be slipping, and Meera could sense the woman was peeved.  
Sansa Stark did not disappoint her when the door to the solar adjoining her chambers was closed behind the three of them. “Gods be good, Arya,” she exclaimed angrily at her sibling. “Can you not restrain yourself from threatening or intimidating someone for a whole day?” Meera took a step backwards from the quarrelling sisters, but not before seeing the hint of a smirk forming on the younger Stark's face. Arya Stark shrugged and said nothing in reply, yet Meera could see that this argument was an old one. Even if it had been dressed up in new clothes, so to speak.

“Um, should I go?” Meera asked uncomfortably. She was shocked when both sisters turned to her and, in unison, said no. Her brows rocketed up her forehead. Meera was already regretting her decision to let her father remain in the Great Hall. “Alright then,” she said quietly and took a quick glance about the room. Spying some chairs, the heir to the Neck braved the direwolves wrath to speak to the two sisters silently locking eyes and proverbial horns. “May I sit then?”

Her words seemed to break the spell. “Forgive me, my lady,” Sansa said as she turned to Meera. “It was very ill of me to exchange words with my sister thusly in the presence an honoured guest.” Arya, in stark contrast to her sister's humbled apology, looked ready to crow proudly over her victory. If her sister noticed, it was well hidden. The woman of the marshlands lowered her head deferentially and nodded her acceptance of the apology. This was in spite of Meera feeling completely out of her depth with the two women of an age with her, who felt more like forces of nature than people she could relate to.  
Sansa stretched out an arm towards the chairs. “Of course you may sit, Lady Meera.” She took the proffered seat without raising her head, wondering whether or not to point out that it made her uncomfortable to be referred to as such. Bran's eldest sister took her own chair behind a well-appointed desk. “Ah, you don't like to be addressed as such, do you, my lady?” the Lady of Winterfell asked knowingly. Meera looked up ever so briefly before moving her eyes to rest on the tabletop and shaking her head.

Lady Stark sighed. “I suppose I ought not be surprised,” Sansa continued, steepling her fingers and apparently deep in thought. Arya scoffed loudly at that. The elder sister balled a fist, rested it on the table, and raised her other hand to point at the younger. “Just because I have some decorum, Arya, does not mean that you have won. Nor does it mean we have finished our earlier... conversation.” The heir of House Reed was perturbed by the almost menacing way Sansa had delivered her final word.  
The siblings had another staring competition for a few moments before the elder one turned aside. “I care not if you sit for this, Sister, but I have something to say to both of you, and I mean to only speak it once.” Arya grunted and begrudgingly took a chair; even a halfwit could have sensed her displeasure. “Good.” Sansa folded her hands on top of the desk in front of her. Briefly, Meera wondered if she was doing it to keep herself from the urge of strangling her only sister.  
From what she'd seen, the child of the marshlands knew without a doubt which of the two would win in physical combat, but they were nearly equally matched in a battle of wits. Eventually, Meera decided that the red-headed Stark would win against the dark-haired one in a campaign fought with their minds. Sansa's patience would ultimately win out against the younger she-wolf's temper. “As I was saying, before Arya's rudeness, I ought not have been surprised that the young woman who tirelessly and selflessly served my brother, at great cost to herself no less, would be uncomfortable with the trappings of nobility.”  
Meera looked up in surprise. “Fear not, Meera Reed,” Lady Sansa told her after noting her reaction. “For your services to House Stark, you will always have a place at our table.” She found herself trying to speak but knew not how to reply, and it came out as a murdered squeak. The elder Stark cut her off. “I'll not hear of you declining my offer, my lady. I remember your humility from your last visit, and given what I saw earlier, Bran owes you his life and much, much more.”

“You... you remembered me?” Meera asked quietly, stunned that Sansa had even noticed her on her first visit. Ned Stark's elder daughter nodded. “But I... I thought... You were so busy and I thought I had escaped your notice.”

The fiery-haired woman shook her head. “No,” she said gently. “I meant to thank you then, but by the time I had a spare moment, you had already left. It wasn't until Bran came to the hall this afternoon that my mind connected Bran's saviour and the daughter of my father's friend as being the same person.” Sansa leant back in her chair. “For that, you have my sincerest apologies. Had I known you were highborn, I never would have let you languish as you did, in my castle.” Meera saw Arya's lip curl at her sister referring to Winterfell as 'hers', but the younger woman remained silent. “As it happened, you barely missed Arya's return.”  
Sansa grew pensive. “You may feel that you dispensed the loyal duty of any bannerman of House Stark to our brother, Meera, but what you sacrificed went far beyond the call.” The Lady of Winterfell looked to the window for a time. “Your humility during your first visit and your perseverance north of the Wall have greatly impressed me.” Sansa turned back and met Meera's eyes. “As has your patience, if how difficult Bran has been of late is any indication of how he was when you travelled together.”

The Crannogwoman eyed the tabletop again and bit her lip. Tilting her head to one side and then to the other, she opened her mouth to speak before quickly closing it. A frown crossed her face. Meera realised her next words had to be chosen very carefully. “He was only really like that for the last moon's turn before we arrived at Winterfell,” she confessed, placing a hand over her heart and massaging it absently. “I'm not entirely sure what happened inside his mind, only that we were attacked while Bran was having a vision, and that he woke... changed.”  
Meera grimaced. “We were the only ones that escaped. Summer was torn to bits by wights after he tried to keep them away from your brother and me.” Her hand quickly went to her mouth, in an effort to smother the wretched cry of anguish that threatened to escape as she thought of Hodor. The young woman guiltily remembered the order she'd given him in a blind panic and its consequences... His passing weighed on Meera's soul nearly as heavily as Jojen's did. Just as the memories of her role in their deaths, and her actions leading up to them, often replayed themselves in Meera's head. They either taunted her, demanding she make an accounting of every little choice that had led up to that point, or endlessly tormented her with what-ifs and maybes.

Before the heir to the Neck broke down completely, drowning in her terrible guilt and sorrow, she felt an arm around her shoulders. “We're here for you, Meera,” Arya comforted her while turning their contact into more of a traditional hug, albeit one from the side. “Both Sansa and I have lost our direwolves as well, in painful and unjust ways. Let it out, if you must.” The gentleness that Bran's more martial sister was showing Meera was more than her brain could handle. Her hand fell away and she wept without restraint. For a while time had no meaning yet through it all Arya held Meera tightly. She knew her episode was quite long but was entirely sure that the only thing she'd even vaguely remember of it later was how Bran's sister had held her tightly.

When the woman from the swamps had no more tears to cry, Arya Stark loosened her grip but didn't release Meera completely. “I'm sorry for reminding you of such a painful memory,” Sansa said soothingly. Still panting and greedily sucking in air, Meera found that she couldn't have spoken even if she'd wanted to. “Will you be alright or do you need more time before I say something?” the Lady of Winterfell asked. Sansa sounded genuinely concerned. It made the Crannogwoman's heart gladden, however slightly, just how welcoming and compassionate the sisters were being with her.  
Meera found herself nodding to the first part of Sansa's question, even though it was likely a lie given her present state of mind. The second part she vigorously shook her head for; Bran's former protector desperately needed something to distract herself from the thoughts now in her head. The red-head drew herself up taller in her chair. Folding her hands in front of her, Sansa cleared her throat then began to speak. “I want you both to know that I overheard what you discussed at dinner.” Meera gasped and her eyes went wide, whereas Arya turned up her lip and scowled; remarkably similar to the one seemingly perpetually worn by the Little She-Bear, the Crannogwoman observed.  
The Lady of Winterfell was unperturbed by both of their reactions. “Listen to me carefully, as I'm only going to say this once,” she said with a steely resolve. “I have made decisions that were, in hindsight, the wrong ones.” Sansa dipped her head briefly to glance at the table, before continuing. “Decisions I have paid for dearly.” The heir to the Neck noticed the woman speaking shiver almost imperceptibly, but brought no attention to it. “However, unless either one of you have never made a mistake, I would kindly suggest that you keep your opinions to yourself in company.” She softened slightly. “I am sorry for your friend, Arya, and I apologise for my naivete causing strife. But I agree with what you said on the walls the other day now; neither of us could have endured what the other did.”  
A slight scowl took form on the Lady of Winterfell's face for a moment. “We are part of the same pack, Arya,” Sansa stated grimly. “Winter has come. Hate me if you must, but we must stand strong, together, if we are to have any hope of surviving the Long Night come again.” She sighed. “Remember what Father used to say...” the red-head added, sounding far away, as if in her own memory of her Lord Father.

Meera watched the two interact, fascinated – in a slightly morbid way, she reckoned – by the interactions between the sisters. The thought crossed her mind to wonder if she and Jojen would have been as close had he been born a girl; or would they perhaps have been more akin to the Stark sisters? Arya Stark answered her sister quietly, her gaze focused on the tabletop. “'When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives'...” She sounded almost melancholy to Meera's ears. “I remember his words well, Sister,” the younger sister said, her speech non-threatening for once. “I never truly hated you, Sansa. Father made me see that before that bastard took him from us.”  
Now it was Arya who sighed. “I resented you for being the perfect lady, and that I was always scolded because I couldn't be.” She looked up and the sister's eyes met. “We frustrated each other, I know. But one night in King's Landing, Father came to me. You know what he told me? 'The same blood flows through both your hearts.' Then he spoke briefly of Aunt Lyanna before he spoke those words to me about the pack surviving.” Arya swallowed loudly. “I apologise for being awful to you when we were children. Would you forgive me?”

Meera sensed that all three of them realised that this was a turning point in their relationship. She felt oddly honoured to be witness to this familial reconciliation. It also brought a brief pang of sadness and pain, when it brought to mind her own family. The Crannogwoman bit her tongue, unwilling to disrupt the moment she was a party to merely because it made her deeply uncomfortable. Sansa was also quietly contemplative for a time. Finally, with a certain grace, she nodded and replied, “Only if you can forgive me for the same, Sister...” It nearly brought a tear to the swamp-dweller's eye, seeing the love between siblings that she had missed when Sansa had reunited with Bran and he had been so cold to her.

Arya returned the nod solemnly. “I need to tell you something I've never admitted to anyone before, Sansa...” the younger Stark said hesitantly. “When I was young, I hated my title for somewhat petty reasons. But now... Now I cannot stand it because it reminds me of all I've suffered and lost; Mother and Father, our brothers... a friend who used it in jest, as well as an enemy who mocked me with every sneered 'Lady Stark'.” Meera noted that Bran's sister was worrying absently at her belly with her left hand, which she found strange. It oddly reminded the Crannogwoman of her father, for reasons she could not quite fathom though. Arya sighed. “They're all dead now,” she added, seemingly as an afterthought.

The girl from the swamps shifted in her chair and it, unfortunately, brought the Stark women's attention back to her. The feeling of their eyes on her suddenly made her nervous. It was uncomfortably like her Lady Mother's gaze on her when she'd been caught red-handed doing something wrong. The sisters exchanged a cryptic and somewhat furtive look, before eyeing the Crannogwoman once more. “You are a part of our pack too, Meera Reed,” Sansa said warmly. “You and your father...” The elder Stark sister gave her a genuine smile then, small as it was. “Though you may be lizard-lions by blood, you are also direwolves in your hearts; not just by oath but by choice as well.”  
She was overcome with emotion to the point of speechlessness at that moment. Somehow, they knew. Just like her father had. Meera dropped her eyes to her lap and blushed, her face betraying how she felt. Lady Sansa reached across the table and took the heir to the Neck's hand in her own. It made the child of the marshes raise her head to meet the other woman's eyes. “Do not be ashamed of loving our little brother, my lady,” the Lady of Winterfell implored. “And should the day come when you wed Bran, then the world will know too what we already accept – that you are the sister we chose.”

They were killing her with kindness that she didn't believe was her due, but Meera was warmed to know that both sisters were offering her love if Bran should choose to deny his love to her. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” was all she managed to say in reply. “I... May I go now? I've been given far too much to think on today already.” The Crannogman's daughter sighed. “I fear that if I remain here, either my head or my heart might burst from being overfull.” She managed a weak smile. “Do I have your leave?” Sansa nodded, and Arya did as well when Meera turned to her. She kept herself together until she'd made it out of the room then, once the door was closed, fled for the safety of her own quarters.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so it's apparently been nearly eight months since I posted the last chapter of this. That makes me more than a little embarrassed. Especially as I wrote the second half of this morning after I got mad watching the latest GoT episode.  
> [*mumble* *grumble* D&D telegraphing Dany's imminent descent into full-blown megalomania *grumble*... That's right woman, you scare those peasants shitless just to feel powerful and superior. Let's see how that turns out for you!]
> 
> Anyway, this was longer in my head originally. The plan was to have more tension between the Stark sisters before they made up, but that's not how it decided to come out. *bemused look* Whatever... I hope you guys enjoy it, in any case.


End file.
